Dark Secrets and Gold Lockets
by Calico
Summary: Sequel to 'Resurgence'. Part IV: Paxton Powers is the victim of a gruesome murder. Guess who's the prime suspect.
1. Part I

DARK SECRETS AND GOLD LOCKETS myname myname 2 1511 2001-11-02T02:40:00Z 2001-11-02T02:40:00Z 12 6498 37040 mycompany 308 74 45487 9.2720 

DARK SECRETS AND GOLD LOCKETS

By Calico  calico321@yahoo.com

Rating: R 

Summary:  Sequel to 'Resurgence', you'll need to read that first or you're going to be very lost.  Everyone has dark secrets, what happens when they collide?  This borrows heavily from 'Mask of the Phantasm' so beware of spoilers if you haven't seen it before.

Disclaimer:  DC Comics and Warner Brothers own Batman and the related characters, but since they don't seem to care about them anymore I think we should give them good homes.  Kendra is my creation (as if anyone else would lay claim to her) and this is my own story, please request permission before archiving.

Part I

August

*ring*

"Hello?"

"Hey McGinnis what's happening?"

"Max!  How's Boston?  You settled into MIT yet?"

"Well it's no Gotham, but it'll do.  Classes are great, but MIT's full of computer nerds."

"Then you should fit right in."

"McGinnis!"

"Well you were the president of the Statistics Club."

"That's treasurer, dreg, and don't dis the Stats.  What's up with you?  Heard from Dana?"

"I got a postcard from Milan last week.  She and Chelsea are having a blast."

"Any idea when they'll be back?"

"They've enrolled in design school.  Probably won't be until the end of the year."

"That's too bad.  What about you?  Now that the summer's over have you decided what you're going to do?"

"Not a clue.  But at least all this free time gives me plenty of crime fighting opportunities."

"Well it's not like you have to work at a real job.  Speaking of work, I was surprised to catch you at home.  Mr. Wayne give you the night off?"

"I'll go out later.  He's taking Kendra to the symphony."

"Why?"

"She wanted to go."

"How many times have they been out?"

"I dunno, three or four, including her birthday.  And don't make it sound like they're dating Max."

"Why not?"

"Because it's just wrong.  He's like 200 years older than her."

"Some women like older men."

"Older maybe, but not petrified.  It's weird though.  I think she reminds him of something.  After he's seen her he goes through his old case files like he's looking for something.  I just don't know what else he sees in her."

"So you're saying you haven't come across them kissing yet?"

"Max!  Thanks a lot for putting that image in my head.  Now I'm going to have nightmares for a week."

She chuckled.  "Later McGinnis."

"Bye Max.  Stay in touch."

They were seated at a table in Chez Noire, the most exclusive restaurant in Gotham, an eating establishment so posh reservations had to be made months in advance, but where there was always a standing table under the name Wayne.

It was late, having just attended the Gotham Symphony Orchestra's rendition of Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons', but the dining room was still packed, lit by strategically placed candles and muted stage lighting, soft music drifting down from hidden speakers.  It was meant to be romantic, but romance was lost on the old.  She sat across from him, hair piled up on her head reflecting gold and red in the flickering light and droning on about some nonsense that could best be described as post-adolescent insanity.  He had tuned her out after the first few sentences out of fear that the monologue would induce a cardiac arrest.  But that didn't mean he didn't enjoy her company.  On the contrary, he had frequent enjoyable conversations with her, times where she wasn't overcompensating for the tension at home; Bruce suspected things hadn't been normal in the Baker household for a long time.  Nonetheless those times paled in comparison to the rest, when her stubborn streak made it impossible to take her seriously.

Like tonight, for instance, as the waiter was asking for her order she replied, "I'd like a hamburger please, extra tomatoes, no onions.  And make it rare.  That's pink in the middle in case you've forgotten."

"No mademoiselle, I have not forgotten.  You are aware this is a French restaurant, non, especially noted for the Duck a l'Orange?"

 "Yes and it was _fabulous_ when I had it on my sixteenth birthday, however tonight I fancy a burger.  Is that ok with you?  It's not illegal is it?"

"No mademoiselle, and your burger will be _tres_ pink.  And for the monsieur?"

Wayne ordered the coq au vin then asked, "And what wine would you recommend for ground beef?"

With a grimace the waiter replied, "Well monsieur, there's a Beaujolais that works very well with steak tar tare."  Bruce nodded his approval at the suggestion and the man returned to give the kitchen their order.  Bruce could almost hear the chef scream in annoyance.

He looked over the table at the young woman sitting across from him.  Every time he encountered her it was with a mixture of dread and anticipation, but also a strange sense of déjà vu, something tickling the back of his mind.  His reaction to her was an unsettling puzzle he was determined to crack.  

She was grinning at him and he thought for the millionth time that she had to be the most exasperating individual he'd ever known, excepting perhaps for the Joker, but that wasn't by much.  But that didn't stop the pull of his heart when he looked into her eyes or saw her smiling.  "What?" he growled.

"At least I'm a cheap date, right?"

"Hardly.  How has school been?" he asked simply, directing the conversation to a different topic.

"Well, switching majors half-way through isn't on my top ten list of things I'd like to do again.  Two weeks into the semester and I'm already lost.  It isn't that I'm not grateful for the _scholarship_ but I think I'm making a huge mistake."

"You're not thinking of quitting are you?"

Frowning, she looked into her lap and gripped the napkin.  "It's a lot more work than I'm used to.  Doesn't allow much time for a social life.  A girl's got to have her priorities you know." 

"You'd throw away your future because you can't go out on dates?"  His voice grew harsh.

 She looked back up at him, a smile erasing the tension from her face, and batted her eyelashes.  "Oh Bruce, you know I only have eyes for you.  I'm not saying any such thing.  It just takes a lot to get used to that's all.  Listen there's something I've got to talk to you about.  It's really important."  He nodded for her to continue.  "Well, Mom's decided that hanging around Gotham is just too much for her, you know since Dad flew the coop.  So she's taking Sam and moving out west.  They're leaving tomorrow.  The house has been sold.  And since the semester has already started all on-campus housing is booked solid, the waiting list is a mile long.  Any off-campus places are going to be dumps and probably cost an arm and a leg.  So as of tomorrow I'm essentially homeless."  She stopped and smiled knowingly at him.

"And?" he prompted feeling a little like a mouse waiting for the cat to pounce.

"And you've got all those rooms just collecting dust.  I'd be quiet, you wouldn't even know I was there, plus I could keep you company.  We could play Parcheesi in your spare time," she finished with a wink.

He simply stared at her in response to the absurd request but somehow knowing he couldn't say no to her.  He'd found that the one word he'd used so often with his 'family' in the past just didn't work with her, nor, he was beginning to find, did he want it to.

A few nights later the dreams started.

_"My name's Bruce Wayne."_

_"I know, the Boy Billionaire.  So tell me, with all that money and power, why do you always look like you want to jump off a cliff?"_

_"Why should you care?"_

_"I don't.  Mother was asking."_

_***_

_"It's been three days since we met and still no calls.  I figured you must be _dead_ or something."_

_"You expect every guy you meet to call you up?"_

_"The ones who are smart enough to dial a phone."_

_***_

_"I need it to be different now.  I know I made a promise but I didn't see this coming.  I didn't count on being happy.  Please tell me it's ok!"_

_"Maybe they already have.  Maybe they sent me."_

_***_

_"Marry me.  What do you say?"_

_"Of course I will!  I never thought this would happen.  I felt like you never knew what to do with me because I wasn't in the plan."_

_"You are now.  I'm changing the plan."_

_***_

_"You still following orders from your father?"_

_"The way I see it the only one in this room still controlled by his parents is you."_

One week later…

It was dark when he woke up.  He'd lain down after an early supper for a few hours sleep and now he had to get downstairs, Terry must be patrolling already.

He walked to the window, made reflective by the endless night outside.  The dreams lingered and in spite of the darkness he witnessed the scene below him play out as if in broad daylight.  Ace stood at his side and he idly scratched at the great dog's ears while his mind drifted back.

A man in his mid twenties wearing a white gi stands on the lush lawn practicing intricate martial arts movements.  A young woman walks up and asks, "What is that?"

_"Jujitsu," he responds without breaking his concentration._

"Gesundheit," she says.  He glares over his shoulder.  "That was a joke," she explains.

_"Jujitsu is no joke.  It takes years of practice to master."  She takes a quick step forward and grabs his outstretched arm easily tossing him to the ground.  "Hey!" he cries out in surprise._

_"I've got a few moves of my own," she calls over her shoulder.  "Miss Hovey's self-defense class for girls."  He laughs to her chagrin and deftly scissors out his legs entangling her own, causing her to fall back on the grass next to him.  Quickly he covers her with a satisfied smile. "Nice footwork," she says after composing herself.  "Can you dance too?"  In response he leans down for a kiss._

Wayne let out an uneasy breath.  The dreams had opened a floodgate of memories.  Ace chuffed in a wordless question.  Gazing down at his canine companion he said, "I know it's almost impossible, but there's still a chance."  The dog looked at him.  "For once I've got to ask questions that I'm afraid of what the answers will be."  Ace whined at the tone of his master's voice.  He'd already made a preliminary background check on Vivian Baker, but it was if the woman didn't exist.  All he could find was her marriage license, and there was evidence of tampering within the system.  Someone wanted her past to remain in the past.

In the study he found Kendra sitting at the large desk, her laptop computer open with a molecular model floating freely on the screen.  She was chewing on the end of her pencil and scowling at the picture before her.  She made a few marks on a piece of paper then entered a command on the keyboard.  A beep informed her she'd entered the incorrect answer.  Throwing the pencil onto the desk she hissed a few unladylike words.  She finally looked up and noticed him watching her from the door.  "I don't know what possessed me to think I could do this!  I don't even have half a brain in my head.  Maybe I should try something more suited to my talents, like…street mime."  He walked over to the desk and looked at what she was working on.  Poking her finger in the air three times she suggested, "Insert joke here."

"Organic chemistry?" he asked and she nodded.  He reached over a punched a few keys.  "You have to insert your covalent bonds in diametric intervals."  The computer accepted the entry and flashed CORRECT across the screen.

Rolling her head back on the large chair she muttered, "Show off."

He leaned back against the desk and looked down on her.  "Tell me about your mother's family."

With furrowed brow she said, "Where did this come from?"

"Humor me."

She opened her mouth to crack some joke, but there was a look in his eyes that caused her to bite back the urge.  Instead she looked down at her lap and said quietly, "There's not much family to talk about."

"Grandparents?" he prompted.

"Well just a grandmother actually."  She licked her lips, and then laughed weakly.  "She found herself in the family way without benefit of matrimony, if you know what I mean.  It's sort of our family secret.  Mother practically has convulsions at the mere mention of it."  She thought for a moment and continued.  "After Gram found out about the baby she settled down in Switzerland and raised her.  Mom eventually came to Gotham on her own and met my dad.  Up till ten years ago we went back to visit every summer.  Those were the best times.  Dad always complained that Gram and I were like carbon copies."  She smiled distantly and shook her head.

"What happened?  Why did you stop going?"

Her eyes were sad, and her voice pained.  "If you must know, my grandmother went insane and killed herself."

She failed to notice his sharp intake of breath.  "Insane?"

She nodded her head.  "It was awful.  That last summer she would shout or cry at things we couldn't see.  She'd be begging someone to forgive her, it was so sad."  Kendra bit her lip.  She turned her face up to him, eyes wide.  

"Did you know that your mother's background has been virtually erased from public record?"

"What are you talking about?  Why are you checking up on my mother?"

"How old is she?"

She jumped up.  "No!  No, no, no!  No more answers for you until I know what's going on."

Grudgingly he responded to her.  "Your grandmother's name was Andrea Beaumont."  It wasn't a question.  She nodded, stunned.  "I knew her.  Many years ago."

"Knew her?  As in an old school chum or the sister of a friend, right?  C'mon Bruce what are you getting at here?"

Turning his back on her, he moved over to the sofa and sat down.  "We were engaged, briefly," he said avoiding her eyes.

She quickly came over to face him.  "Engaged?" she breathed, heart pounding in her ears.

"How old is your mother, Kendra?" he asked again, softly.

With a groan she replied, "She tells everyone she's 39 but she'll actually be 45 next April."  He closed his eyes.  "Oh god, you're saying…?"  She couldn't finish.

"I think so.  I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"  She turned and started pacing in front of him.  "After all these years I find out my grandfather is a lonely old man who wouldn't know a good time if it came up and sat on his lap."  She turned and walked in the other direction, arms flailing, voice rising.  "My _grandfather_ used to run around in tights and a cape beating up bad guys!  Oh no."  She stopped and placed a hand on her eyes.  "Dammit."

"What?"

"Migraine."  Turning she retraced her steps to stand before him.  "My grandfather is…"   She pointed her finger at him.  "_You_?"  Her voice cracked, and he could see that she was shaking, her breathing was rapid and shallow, her pupils dilated.  She was becoming hysterical.  He grabbed her hand and gently pulled her down to sit next to him.  The physical contact helped dispel the rising panic within her and she collapsed against the back, taking in gasps of air.  "Oh this is so demented," she whispered.

"Yes."

"How did you know?"

"I think I somehow knew from the beginning.  The similarities between the two of you are almost uncanny.  It explains my…"  He shook his head.  _Infatuation_ he was going to say, but he didn't want to go there now; he could never go _there_ again.  "However, Andi _was_ a great deal more refined."

She shrugged.  "So I flunked charm school."  Leaning closer she asked, "What happened between you two?"

He told her an abbreviated version of meeting Andrea Beaumont, eventually proposing and then receiving the ring back the very next day as she disappeared inexplicably.  Ten years later her reappearance in his life coincided with the mysterious phantom-like character who'd started killing off gangsters.  Too late did he find out that it was she avenging the death of her father and their own lost love.  He'd failed to sway her from her need for vengeance, was forced to protect the life of the man he loathed more than all others against her, and any hope for them had been lost.  "I didn't know if she were alive or dead.  I had no idea about the baby."

"Would it have made a difference?"

"I don't know," he said slowly.  Looking at her he said, "But I would have taken care of her, she wouldn't have been alone."

"You loved her?"

"Yes, very much."  He reached into his pocket and pulled something out.  He held it towards her.  Lying in his palm was a gold-filigreed locket.  "She left this for me the last time.  Open it."  Taking it, gently she popped the latch and pushed the lid open with her finger.  The picture inside showed two young people in each other's arms smiling happily into the camera.  She sighed as she put a fingertip to the decades old photograph.  "I want you to have it."

A tear slipped down her cheek as she said, "Thank you."  She cleared her throat.  "I'll have to tell my mother eventually."  He nodded.  "She won't be very happy about it.  Don't expect her to come running back with open arms."  He stood up and headed to the door.  "I know this must be hard for you, having been alone for so long.  I won't mind if you just want to keep quiet for now.  Maybe it would be better for the both of us if you did."

"Finish your homework," he said in response.  "I'll help you later."  Then he was gone.  

She looked down at the locket.  "Well Gram, at least we have the same taste in men."  She closed it and slipped the chain around her neck before returning to the desk to tackle organic chemistry again.

October

"This was the third attack in four weeks.  They're calling the guy FireBrand.  Witnesses describe him as dressed completely in red except for a black executioner's hood."

"Why don't they call him the Executioner?" Terry wondered out loud.

"Because he leaves his victims branded."  Wayne touched a key on the console causing the monitor of the giant computer to flash with an image of a man's back, a strange symbol raised in charred flesh.

"Oh that's harsh!" Terry exclaimed.  He leaned his head to the side.  "What does the number 8 mean?"

"Perhaps if you actually paid attention during your calculus classes you'd recognize it as the symbol for infinity.  He's been overheard telling his victims they'll suffer infinitely. "

"Sounds like this guy's got some real issues.  Any connections between the three victims?"

"None of them were exactly boy scouts.  The first was Jake Norris, a loan shark known for charging exorbitant interest and exacting fatal penalties when customers default.  The second was Harry O'Neil, a booking agent.  He'd take a bet on whether or not the sun will rise if the odds were good enough.  The last was Richie Valentine.  He ran an exclusive prostitution ring."

"Nice.  So this guy's just a vigilante.  Nasty work though.  Gives us a bad name."  Wayne looked up at him.  "Because technically we're doing the same thing, only without the death and torture."

"Just get out there and keep your eyes open."

Terry reached back to pull on the cowl that finished the transformation to Batman.  "So how's the roommate situation going?"  Wayne didn't reply so he continued.  "I mean it's been almost two months.  I figured she'd have you pulling out what's left of your hair."

"I hardly ever see her," he responded quietly.  "She spends most of her time in class or studying and she hates coming down here."

"Thank God for that!"

In an upstairs room Kendra was practicing yoga exercises.  Since her release from the hospital she was determined to regain the strength and flexibility her convalescence had cost her.  She'd immediately pursued Eastern methods of pain management and relaxation and had gotten rid of the cane in less than a month, much to the surprise of her doctors, now walking with only a barely perceptible limp.

She reached down to grab her right ankle with her right hand, raising the left towards the ceiling, bending at the waist in a movement called the Trikonasana, and cried out when a sharp pain shot up her back.  Continuing to breath, though through clenched teeth, she completed the exercise, reciting her own personal mantra in her head, 'Pain is fleeting, suffering is infinite.'  She returned to the start position and took several deep and cleansing breaths, centering her mind and body before repeating the exercise on the other side.  Then having finished the complete routine she headed to the shower to prepare.  She had an important date tonight.

"I thought you liked Kendra."

"Like?  Sure she's great and all, but well…"

"What?"

"She's sort of _extreme_.  It's hard to be around for extended periods of time, you know what I mean?"

"Yes I know exactly what you mean."  He saw Terry grin knowingly beneath the mask.  "What you have to understand is the personas people use in public aren't always an accurate depiction of who they really are."

"If that's the case, then you've got a lot more in common with her than you thought."  Bruce simply nodded and turned away already bored with the conversation.  "I'll check in with you later," Terry called out as he slid into the Batmobile and roared out of the cave.

Hours later, after a couple of pit stops to take care of a mugging and an armed robbery, Batman finally found his prey.  Wayne's voice came through the cowl's com, *Terry, silent alarm at the Chittenden building in Gotham's financial district.  B & B Investments.*

Batman turned the Batmobile left and headed towards the building.  When he got into visual range he scanned the area.  

Ejecting from the car and he flew around surveying the layout.  He saw a figure immerging from the roof access door.  It was dressed in a bright red suit with a black hood that flowed down the face and over the shoulders.  He landed on the rooftop and called out, "Find what you were looking for?" The figure stopped and faced the newcomer.  Batman saw even the eyes of the hood glowed red.  He also wore heavy gloves; in the palm of the right, raised in boss relief, was the symbol for infinity, glowing red-hot.  "FireBrand – that's what they're calling you right?"

"I have many names – agony, terror, misery, eternal damnation." The electronic voice was a combination of a lion's growl and fingernails on a blackboard.

"More like eternally boring. You're finished, I'm putting a stop to your little crusade."

"By what authority _Bat_-man?" the figure wheezed and Terry swore it was laughing at him. "You are not any different from me."

"By my own authority. And I am different than you. I don't kill people."

"Maybe you just don't have the backbone for it. Those _people_ are leeches on society's skin. Leeches are _burned_ off."

"They're just men, criminals maybe but still men, they belong in prison, not tortured to death."

"Prison!" FireBrand screamed. "There's no suffering in prison. There is not enough suffering in this world for them. Only that which I can offer, that is."

"As exciting as this philosophical discussion is, I think we need to get on to the fun stuff." Igniting his boot thrusters, Batman launched himself fists first into FireBrand's chest knocking him backward into the half-wall surrounding the roof's edge. There was an audible 'oof' as the air was pushed out of the vigilante's lungs. Both figures landed in a heap. Suddenly FireBrand was up, griping Batman by the arms, tossing him aside, and then running back for the roof's access door. Batman rolled once and then leapt at the fleeing figure, grabbing his arm and pulling him around, using a maneuver left over from his wrestling days to force him to the ground.

FireBrand dropped the other shoulder and somersaulted out of Batman's grasp. The two faced each other momentarily. Batman swung a leg around, connecting with the other's head, but FireBrand went with the momentum, twirling completely and bringing his own leg around to sweep Batman off his feet. Turning, he started once again for the escape route, but his progress was hampered when a bolo suddenly wrapped around his feet, causing him to fall straight forward.

"Don't rush off. We've got so much more to talk about."

"I have no business with you Batman. Let me go." FireBrand was propped up on one elbow, looking back as Batman approached him. The executioner's mask was hanging loose on the front and Terry thought he saw something glittering in the light underneath. Once he got close enough FireBrand thrust out his right hand and grasped Batman's lower leg. Smoked poured out and sizzling could be heard where the hand and leg touched. 

Batman jumped back into a handspring to escape the grasp. When he was far enough away he looked down and saw the outer covering of the suit had melted and the inner servos snapping and flickering. A few more seconds and the brand would have touched flesh. FireBrand took the opportunity to untie the bolo from his ankles then stood and faced the Bat.

"This is not a contest Batman. I suggest we call a draw."

"No can do. This is a one vigilante town."

"So be it."

Batman threw a punch, FireBrand deflected it, throwing the Bat over his hip onto his back.  He went to deliver a kick to Batman's side but he wasn't quick enough.  Batman rolled and jumped up behind him.  He delivered a punch to FireBrand's back, sending him flying towards the wall.  The vigilante let out a scream, and collapsed onto the barrier.  He looked over his shoulder to see Batman advancing on him then slid his body over the side.  Batman ran to the ledge to watch the other fall several stories before landing on a passing hover bus then grabbing a lamppost and sliding down to the ground.  Batman jumped off and flew down in pursuit.

Batman saw FireBrand turn between two buildings and headed after him.  He entered the alleyway to find it deserted and a dead end.  "Now where did he go?" he mumbled to himself.  He walked among the refuse and noticed a door at the end of one of the buildings.  He opened it up and entered a hallway.  Up ahead he could hear noises, like chanting.  There were two doors on either side of the hall, one marked men and one marked women.  He turned toward the door on his left, as the other burst open and someone rushed out running into his back.

"Oh I'm so sorry," a feminine voice said, then, "Uh oh."

He turned and saw Kendra standing there, a gym bag slung over her shoulder.  "What are _you_ doing here?" he hissed.

She grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him back the way she'd come, into a room filled with lockers.  She looked around to double check that the room was empty then said to him in a low voice, "I take classes three times a week.  It helps with my rehabilitation."

"What is this place?" he asked.

She looked at him strangely, "It's a martial arts center, Terry.  Why are you here?"

"I followed FireBrand in here."

"Who?"

"Some weirdo making his mark on the world.  Brands his victim.  Did you see anyone strange come through a few minutes ago?"

"I just got out of the shower.  I haven't seen anyone."  He noticed her damp hair and nodded.  The door flew open then and a couple of girls walked in, chatting to each other.  Batman quickly grabbed her and hid behind a set of lockers as the girls walked towards the showers.  She looked at him with wide eyes and mouthed, _You've got to get out of here._  He nodded and they walked to the door.  She took a quick peak out to make sure the hall was still empty before they exited.  "Look I don't think your guy came through here.  You think there'd be a little commotion if he did."

"Yeah I guess you're right."  He stopped and stared at her, although his gaze was quite a bit south of her face.

"Um Ter, they're not _that_ great."

"Huh?  I was just looking at your necklace, the way it flashed in the light."  Her hand came up immediately and she grabbed it, almost as if trying to hide it from view.  "Something wrong?"

"No not at all, it was my grandmother's.  Look I've got to get going.  If I see some guy in a flaming red suit, I'll give you a shout."  She turned and walked up the hall.  He noticed her favoring her right leg.

"It was just really bizarre Bruce, first FireBrand disappearing into thin air and then running into her there.  And she acted kind of weird.  The thing is when I was fighting FireBrand I noticed something shiny around his neck and she was wearing this necklace that flashed in the light.  When I mentioned it she just seemed, I don't know, strange about the whole thing, like it was embarrassing."  He had come back to the Batcave feeling defeated at having lost his foe.  Bruce listened quietly with his hands clasped together in front of him.

"It's nothing Terry let it go."

"And she was limping a lot more than usual.  I swear when I punched FireBrand in the back I really hurt him.  You should have heard the scream."

"She just had a hard workout, you don't think she'd be in more pain than normal?"

"Well that makes sense, but the necklace, why be so defensive about it?"

"Because I gave it to her."

Despite the softness of the tone Terry's head snapped back.  "Why?"

"I thought she should have it."

"Kendra told me it was her grandmother's.  How would you have something that belonged to her grandmother?"   He was utterly confused.

Bruce leaned forward, eyes narrowed.  "Because I'm her grandfather Terry, and she's not taking the news very well, which is why she hasn't been around much.  I'm sure that pointing out the necklace made her very self-conscious.  I'm telling you to drop it."

"Well what about the fact that when I first mentioned FireBrand she didn't know what I was talking about, then when she leaves she says she'll keep an eye out for a guy in a red suit?"

"Kendra has nothing to do with it now DROP IT!" the old man's voice boomed throughout the cavern.

"Oh I get it."  Terry had finally had it.  He cried out, "I can go out every night and get my head thumped but I'm not _good_ enough to be a detective.  I just have to follow everything _you_ say, even though the evidence says different."

"Goodnight Terry."

"Yeah, see ya."  Terry jumped on his cycle and drove out of the cave, spinning the tires.

Bruce sat staring off into the darkness for a few moments before saying, "Are you going to stand up there all night?"

"I heard yelling.  I was worried."  She materialized from the shadows and came down the stairs.  He turned his head towards her.  "You told him," she accused softly.

"Yes.  He thinks you're FireBrand.  Has some good points too.  Of course you'd never be stupid enough to do anything like that would you?"  She half turned away from him, hiding her face.  He stood and grabbed hold of her upper arm.  "Would you?" he commanded, voice dangerously low.

Her face was still hidden from him.  "They say the apple never falls far from the tree."  His grip tightened on her arm and she turned her face to him.  "You're hurting me."  Her voice was flat, emotionless.

"The loan shark and the bookie, your father used them frequently.  What about the other one, Richie Valentine?"

"Pimp extraordinaire?  My father liked hookers, Bruce, the sleazier the better.  Richie had no problem supplying the demand.  He'd come home to my mother afterwards.  To my mother!"

"And tonight?"

"Jerome Bennington, Dad's business partner.  He's the one who started the money-laundering scheme, he made the contacts, he's the one who brought Rinaldi into our lives.  Now he's destroyed the evidence and made it look like it was all my dad's doing so he can live the good life with blood money.  But he wasn't there tonight."  She clenched her fists in frustration.

"He was supposed to be though.  You called him this evening before going out and arranged a meeting didn't you?"

She showed the first signs of emotion.  "How did you know?"  It came out as a hoarse whisper.

"You don't think I have every phone in this house monitored?"

"So then you…?"

"Made sure he would be otherwise occupied."

"You've known all along?"

He shook his head.  "Not for sure until tonight.  After I noticed the connections the first two victims had with your father I was suspicious.  The third one threw me.  How could you do this, after everything I told you about…"

"Gram?  That's what gave me the idea.  I thought it was a way to rid this town of its less than finer citizens and repay some old debts of my own." 

"Not in my city and not in my house!!" he roared at her, shaking her arm.  She flinched but did not fail to meet his gaze.  He let go of her.  Looking into his grim eyes, the echoes dying down around them, she felt the hot rage that had driven her in the last weeks washed away by a cold knowledge that the consequences of her actions might not be worth the hollow satisfaction of revenge. 

Licking her lips, she asked, "So what are you going to do now, turn me over to the police?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"Whether you plan on going after Bennington again."

"He still needs to be punished."

"And he will be.  But it will be my way.  You either accept that or walk out the door and never look back."

She dropped her face to the ground.  "And if I agree?"

He placed a finger under her chin, gently forcing her to look up at him.  "We'll talk about suitable retribution later."  He dropped his hand and returned to the chair, beginning to work on the computer.  After almost five minutes when she still stood unmoving, he said, "I take that as an agreement.  Bring that costume down here."

"Why?  Don't you trust me?"

"I'll trust you more once it's safely down here."

She sighed and retreated up the stairs, reappearing a few minutes later with her gym bag.  She threw it on the ground and walked over to stand beside the chair, absently worrying the locket around her neck.  She watched information scroll by on the large monitor over and over again.  Whatever he may have lost in his age, nothing slowed down his powers of investigation.  Finally he stopped, slipping a disk out of the console.  "What's that?" she asked him.

"Phone records, surveillance footage of midnight meetings, and records of cash deposits to off-shore accounts.  With this and the testimony of Rinaldi, Barbara should have no trouble getting a case together."  He stood and started up the stairs.

She followed him up.  "Terry's going to be pretty upset when he finds out he was right after all."

"He doesn't need to find out.  This is family business."

She paused for a moment, shivers traveling down her spine.  The tone of his voice was laced with a darkness she almost detected as regret.  Remembering his promise of 'suitable retribution' she was suddenly concerned he would still throw her out for good.  Trying to lighten the mood she said then, "Well you know I _could_ have taken him, if he hadn't sucker punched me."

"Mm hmm," Bruce replied noncommittally.  Once they reached the top and closed the secret door he looked at her.  "I want you to see a psychiatrist."  

She raised an eyebrow at his request.  "You think I'm crazy?"

"Do you consider your actions to be sane?"

"In this town, are you kidding?"

"You either seek help voluntarily or I'm committing you to Arkham myself."

"Ok, ok, whatever makes you happy.  I'll look for a shrink tomorrow."

"And Kendra, one more thing."

"Yes?" she asked, heart pounding in her chest.

"You're grounded."  He started down the hall towards the kitchen, leaving her standing there.

He didn't see wave of relief that washed over her face, but he heard the whispered, "Yes sir."

December

"This is Bianca Michaelides reporting to you from the Gotham Arms Hotel where the biggest event of the winter season is getting under way.  The Annual Christmas Eve Charity Ball and Auction, where the city's rich and powerful pay 15,000 units a plate to celebrate this holiday season in style, with proceeds going to the GPD Widows and Orphans fund.  

"A few moments ago Leticia Waverly-Boudreau and her hot new Cajun husband, Malcolm, walked down the red carpet looking for all the world like a pair of love struck kids.

"Lucius Fox Jr., owner of Foxtecha and his lovely wife arrived earlier on the heels of his rival, the dashing Mr. Paxton Powers, recently named CEO of Wayne-Powers, with not one, but two young ladies on his arm.  I guess he was a _very_ good boy this year.

"And speaking of Wayne-Powers, here comes Gotham's most notorious bachelor, Mr. Bruce Wayne, escorted yet once again by GU co-ed Kendra Baker.  Let's see if I can get a word with him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wayne, Bianca Michaelides of Gotham Beat, could I ask you a few questions?"

"Certainly," he replied graciously.

"You and Miss Baker have been seen together several times in the last six months.  The question on everyone's mind is, what exactly is your relationship?  Not planning on giving up your confirmed bachelor status at this late date are you?"  She smiled up at the old man, ignoring the withering stare from his young escort.  Bianca knew a story when she saw one, and any story starting with Bruce Wayne, especially one this scandalous, was hot.

Wayne looked down at Kendra, her face stormy.  He raised an eyebrow in a silent question. She answered with a barely perceptible shrug of her shoulder.  "Well Ms. Michaelides, I guess you will be the first to know."  Bianca's eyes went wide; this one could get her her own show.  "Kendra is my granddaughter."

"All of Gotham will be pleased to hear…What?!" she stumbled for a moment at the unexpected revelation.  Although a January-December romance would have been far more intriguing, this was still a scoop.  "A granddaughter?  I must say this comes as a bit of a surprise."

"You have no idea," Kendra said dryly.

"Does this mean that Wayne-Powers might once again see a Wayne at its helm?"

"Oh no," Kendra replied quickly.  "I don't have a head for business."

"Well," Bianca said with a predatory smile.  "One has to wonder what you do have a head for."

"Merry Christmas Ms. Michaelides," Wayne said, urging Kendra forward and away from the reporter.

They entered the large ballroom already full of festive merrymakers.  Kendra ate her meal without commentary, which left Bruce feeling slightly ill at ease.   Afterwards she declined several invitations to dance, all except for Paxton Powers who had come over and said, "Wayne, I just heard a vicious rumor that this gorgeous young lady is your granddaughter.  Perhaps I could borrow her for a quick dance and introduce myself?"  To Bruce's utter consternation, she agreed.  For a full five minutes he had to watch her in the arms of Powers, the son of the man who took over his company and almost destroyed the entire city.  After the dance she allowed him to kiss her hand and then returned to the table looking as somber as before.

"Have fun?" he asked mildly.

"Oh, he seems nice," she said absently.  "He asked me to go to a New Year's Eve party with him."  Then apparently realizing who he was she asked, "I'm sorry does that bother you?  I didn't think about it before…"

"Why should I mind?" he replied lightly.  Under his breath he said, "At least it wasn't his father."  Out loud again he asked, "Are you feeling ok?  You don't seem to be having a good time," he asked.

"I've just thinking that now it's out in the open, everyone's going to be making a big deal.  The press is going to be asking questions and digging around.  They're going to find out everything about my father, Gram…" she shook her head miserably.

"That's not what's really bothering you is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't smiled at all this week, and tonight you're positively sullen."

"You keeping track now?"

"Let's just say it's something I've started looking forward to."

"It's just the holidays.  They haven't been all that merry for me in a long time.  And I spoke with my mother, she refused to come out so I won't even get to see Sam this year."  She didn't mention that in the conversation, Vivian Baker had expressed no interest whatsoever in seeing her father now or anytime in the future.  She wouldn't even allow Kendra to broach the subject again, since she first told her months ago.  She found the entire situation to be completely depressing, a word she barely knew.

"You could always fly out there to see them," he reminded her.  "I could arrange for you to have a private plane tonight."

Sadly she shook her head now.  "That's not the point, Bruce, and you know it."  She turned in her chair to look directly at him.  "I'm sure you haven't trimmed a tree in what, half a century or so?  I'm not saying we have to deck the halls or sing carols or anything, but maybe we could spend the day together, quietly.  Maybe you could make another attempt to teach me chess.  I promise not to make horse noises when I move the knights.  You just shouldn't be down in that tomb of yours on Christmas of all days.  After all, Terry is going to be spending the day with his family."

"He'll still be on call.  Crime doesn't take a holiday."

"Bullshit."   She waited for his eyes to narrow in consternation of her inappropriate language.  "Good, I've got your attention.  The hospitals stay open, the police and fire departments maintain full staff, nobody will be unprotected, _they_ won't need you.  But in case it's failed to escape your notice I've had a pretty lousy year.  I need you."

She saw an inner debate inside him, and then he stood up.  "There's something I need to do, and I'd like you to come with me."  Without another word they gathered their coats and made their way out into the cold.  The normal city lights were augmented by the red and green of the season.  A light snow had started dusting everything and giving it a brief moment's cleanliness.  They drove away from downtown and finally parked outside an ornate iron gate.  The latch was not locked and they entered the grounds beyond.  He led her, but she gave him a steadying hand in the snow and ice.  She'd been doing more and more of that, inquiring about his health, insisting he eat better, becoming hyper-sensitive to his moods, offering assistance which, had it been anyone else, he would normally wave off in irritation.

They reached their destination.  Even though it was night, the moon was full and the fresh snow reflected the light onto all surfaces.  The great monument loomed before them.  WAYNE.  She blinked at it then turned to look up at him.  "I don't come as often as I'd like to anymore, but I never miss Christmas."  She nodded then reached and touched the marble with her fingers.  He lifted his cane and pointed to a spot beyond.  "Over there is where I met Andi.  She was visiting her mother's grave."

"How romantic," she whispered to herself, hugging her arms to her chest in an effort to stay warm.  They stood side by side for several minutes in silence, and then he signaled the time to go by turning around.  "Thank you for bringing me.  I know this whole family thing is going to take a lot of getting used to, on both sides."   Kendra took a deep breath to begin a conversation she'd been avoiding for some time.  She figured this was as good a moment as any.  "Listen, um, you know the doctor says my therapy is about finished."

"Oh?"  He stopped to look at her.

"She's narrowed it down."  She ticked off with her fingers.  "I have anger management issues, I exhibit inappropriate behavior when dealing with stressful situations or uncomfortable emotions, and apparently I have an over-exaggerated sense of self, whatever that means."

"I could have told you that and would have saved a fortune in medical bills."  She wasn't paying any attention though; she just stood still, gnawing on her thumbnail.  "Kendra, what is it?"

"I've been holding my anger inside for so long it became too painful to cope.  I thought it would help the pain go away, but it didn't, it made it worse.  I am so, so sorry for what I did.  I'm just grateful you gave me a second chance and I promise that I will never disappoint you like that again."  He watched her as she stood, head slightly bowed, looking humbled, and realized this must have been how she looked as a child when scolded.  He'd missed that, he'd missed watching her grow up… At that moment he had a vision so intense it left him breathless. 

 _A young girl, perhaps seven or eight, hair pulled into pigtails, clothes scruffy from play, comes running up to him.  Her face open and smiling, blue eyes twinkling from having alternately bullied and bewitched all the neighborhood boys, she stands before him arms raised and calls out, 'Pick me up Grandpa, pick me up!'  He's overwhelmed by her delicate power…_

Fingers snapped in front of his face.  "Bruce?  Don't space out on me now."

He looked up to see the adult version of that little girl, now dressed in a ball gown, eyes darkened in worry.  Suddenly, she ceased to be the ghost of Andrea Beaumont come back to haunt him to his grave, and became his own second chance.  She was no longer his past, she was his future.  "Apology accepted," he replied gruffly, and walked towards the entrance.

She hurried to catch up with him.  "So about tomorrow…?"

"I suppose I could spare a couple of hours."

"A couple of hours?  That's the best you can do?"

"Any longer than that and I can't guarantee you'll survive to see the New Year."

"Oh will miracles never cease – Bruce Wayne makes a joke!"

"Who says I was joking?"


	2. Part II

DARK SECRETS AND GOLD LOCKETS myname myname 2 536 2001-11-02T03:00:00Z 2001-11-02T03:00:00Z 8 4302 24526 mycompany 204 49 30119 9.2720 

Part II

April

She was late, very late.  She'd decided to stay at school and study in the library until her date with Paxton.  She was supposed to meet him at the theater at seven, but lost track of time and now she had ten minutes to walk eight city blocks and apparently all the taxi drivers had taken a joint vacation.  Despite her hurry she was feeling decidedly giddy at the thought of the upcoming evening.  Four months.  She knew all about his reputation with women, he never dated one for more than a week.  Even the gossips on the web had noticed, playing it off as the next Wayne-Powers merger.  She gritted her teeth at that.  She was still trying to get comfortable with the idea herself but the media painted her as long-lost royalty, heiress to the Wayne fortune.  It boosted ratings and annoyed her to no end.  She wished they'd kept the secret a while longer.

Her mind refocused on her current situation.  Paxton was Gotham's newest playboy since taking over for his father at Wayne-Powers, but somehow they seemed to really connect since the holidays.  He was attentive, generous, and always seemed to hang on her every word, not to mention incredibly handsome.  Maybe the tabloids weren't so far off, she smiled to herself.  Stopped at an intersection, she impatiently waited for an opening in traffic to cross and only noticed the shadow that fell over her a split second before the hand covered her mouth.  An acrid stench filled her mouth and nostrils.  She gave a brief but ineffective struggle before the world went dark.

"So the rumors are true.  Kendra and Powers have been dating seriously?" Terry asked.

"Since they met at the Christmas Ball.  If I didn't know better I'd think she was doing it just to spite me."

"What makes you so sure she's not?"

"She has no idea what he really is and she seems so…happy, not that she'd ever talk to me about it."

"Trouble brewing in the Wayne clan?"

"No.  But things are more awkward."

"Why?"

"How do I know?  Raising boys wasn't easy, but at least I understood them.  Women I'll never understand."

"I don't think we're supposed to.  It's like natural law.  To understand them is to lose interest, then where would we be?  Sounds like a good topic for a sociology paper."  Bruce looked up at him.  "Yeah, I know, lame.  But I've got a question for you.  Have you even told her you're happy she's your granddaughter?"

"Not exactly."

"Meaning not at all.  She's probably worried you're ashamed of her."

Before he could respond the phone to the manor rang.  "Wayne residence."

"Wayne?  This is Paxton Powers.  Do you know where Kendra is?"

Bruce leaned forward in his chair.  "She's supposed to be with _you_."

"I was meeting her at seven.  It's almost eight now and she still hasn't shown.  I've already checked the university and she's not there.  I'm really very worried."

"Thank you for calling me Paxton."

"Are you going to call the police?"

"I'll handle it.  Goodbye."  Terry had already donned the suit.  "Go out and see what you can find."

"Are you going to call Barbara?"

"Not right away."

She floated back to consciousness, body aching all over and feeling disoriented.  She was briefly concerned because she couldn't see anything but realized shortly she was simply blindfolded.  She was seated in a straight back chair with her hands tied behind, and there was a gag in her mouth, which wasn't good because she was feeling nauseous from whatever had been used to knock her out.  _Oh, not again,_ she moaned to herself.  What bad karma had she sent out in the world to deserve this?  

She heard a door open and for a brief moment there was the sound of waves softly lapping against something and a whiff of salty air.  The door closed and soft footsteps came towards her.  She tried to remain still, but jumped, as a voice breathed into her ear, "Can't fool me.  I know you're awake."  There was a rustling as the speaker walked around the room.  "Now I'm sure you're wondering what you're doing here.  I'm going to remove the gag so we can talk.  Don't bother screaming.  No one will hear you anyway."  There was a fumbling behind her head and the cloth was removed.  She took a few moments to work some spit in her dry mouth.

"Who are you?" she asked carefully.

"Un uh.  First rule, I ask all the questions.  You answer them properly and there won't be any trouble."  He paused and she heard a soft click.  "Now tell me your full name."

"Mona Lisa," she replied.

"This is your first warning.  Smarten up.  I won't be nice forever.  Your name."

She threw her head back.  _Just go with the flow_, she thought.  _Live to fight another day_. "Kendra Morgan Baker."

"Good girl, now your birth date."

"What, you going to buy me a present Popeye?"

Terry had been scouring the streets all night.  He'd stopped a Jokerz gang from causing trouble, prevented a jewelry store robbery, and helped a lost child find their way home.  But he didn't find any sign of Kendra.  Dawn came and he had no choice but to leave Bruce sitting alone in the cave; he had to help his mother.  He went back shortly before sundown.  Descending the stairs he said, "I met a currier at the gate when I came in.  He delivered this."  Bruce turned and saw a package wrapped in brown paper in his hands.  "Think it's important?"

"Did Tara burn?" the old man asked, taking it from the boy.  He ripped the outer wrapping off to reveal a vid disk.

"Huh?"

"Never mind."  Bruce put the disk into the computer.  Immediately an image came up.  Kendra, blindfolded and hands tied behind, seated in a chair.  An off screen voice prompted her to speak by asking questions.  As usual she was anything but accommodating.

_"What, you going to buy me a present Popeye?"_

The image skipped and now she sat there head hanging down.

_"One more time.  Your birth date,"_ the off screen voice said coldly.

She raised her head slowly, her tongue reaching out to lick the spot of blood that trickled down the corner of her mouth.  _"June 3, 2019."_  She gave a smile and said, _"That makes me a Gemini.  A water sign: we're egocentric, imaginative, and restless as well as superficial and cunning.  Listen Popeye, I'm feeling a little queasy; you got any Dramamine?"_

_"Quiet,"_ the voice growled.  _"Bruce Wayne is your grandfather?"_

She seemed to stiffen for a moment, then her shoulders shrugged.  _"That's pure speculation at this point.  You know we never even had a genetic mapping test.  Anything is possible.  I mean for all I know, Batman could be my grandfather."_

_"Shut up!"_ the voice screamed.

Slowly Kendra rotated her head towards the sound of the voice.  _"Make me,"_ she said in a low deadly voice.

"God, what is she trying to do, get herself killed?" Terry asked while Bruce gripped the arms of his chair.

On screen the back of a large man suddenly filled the entire frame.  The man walked towards Kendra, a beefy hand coming up and grabbing her by the throat, lifting her several inches from the chair.  Her face contorted and she struggled for breath.  _"Listen to me little girl, I've had it with your smart mouth.  I told you I wouldn't stay nice forever."_  He held her for several long seconds before finally dropping her back into the chair.  He backtracked the way he came, but for a brief instant the left side of his face became visible before disappearing off screen.  _"Now, once again.  Bruce Wayne is your grandfather."_

She tried to draw air into her lungs, coughing with the effort.  _"As far as I know,"_ she said gasped.  _"But we barely know each other.  You won't get any money from him.  He'd just as soon throw it into the sea as deal with the likes of you.  Then again maybe he'll pay you just to keep me."_  She turned her face away dejectedly.

_"Mr. Wayne, I hope you've been paying attention.  Ten million creds in untraceable cash cards.  Bring it to the corner of Loenthal and Rheingold, tomorrow at 11 am.  Come alone and don't go to the police, or you _will_ get her back - in pieces, one part delivered to your doorstep every day for a month, starting with her tongue."_  The video went blank.

There was silence in the Batcave.  Even the bats seemed to take pause to ponder the grave situation.  Then Bruce leaned forward, fingers flying across the keyboard.  He replayed the video, fast-forwarding to the scene where the kidnapper showed himself.  He paused the footage and captured the screen shot of the man's half face, pulling the image out.  He instructed the computer to copy the picture and flip it so that two halves of a face were put together as one.

"Anyone you know?" Terry asked.

"No."  He started the computer on a search of all databases for a facial match.  While waiting for that job he pulled up a map of the city, focusing on the harbor district.  "She's on a boat."

"How do you know?"

He looked up at the young man.  "I was paying attention.  She made several references to water, and in the background I heard a foghorn.  Also the intersection he referred to is near Gotham Harbor.  Get down there and look around."

"Bruce," Terry started tentatively.  "We'll find her."

"Yes, we will."

The computer had been searching for over an hour with no match.  On the outside Batman had been investigating all of the vessels currently docked within Gotham Harbor.

"Do you have any idea how many boats are anchored here at any given time?" Terry asked in his commlink.

*I would hazard a guess of almost 200,* came the old man's reply.

"Good guess.  Now you want to guess how long it takes to make a thorough investigation of all of them without being noticed?"

*Longer than it should take.*

Terry rolled his eyes, but didn't want to draw him into battle further.  "Any luck on that ID?"

*Not yet.  It has me concerned.  Maybe he altered his appearance, or…wait, I think the computer finally hit something.*  There was a brief pause.  *That's why it took so long.  The right side of his face is covered in burn scars from a childhood accident.  His name is Joseph Rasco, aka Joey the Rascal.  He's a former Merchant Marine and current muscle for hire.  There's a long list of prior convictions, some B & E but mostly assault and battery, many of his victim's were women.  The first one was his mother.*

"Not a very nice guy.  So we should assume any threats he makes…"

*He's more than willing to make good on,* the former Batman finished for him.

"Any idea who hired him?  Or do you think he's working on his own for this?"

*It doesn't really seem to fit his pattern.  If we had time I'd try locating known accomplices.  Right now I think the best course of action is for you to continue looking.*

"And what will you be doing?"

*Putting a call into my bank.*

It was eleven o'clock on the dot when Bruce Wayne walked down the almost deserted Rheingold Street, passing a few bars that had kicked their last patrons, mostly longshoremen and the local criminal element, out hours ago.  This was an area that thrived on the night and its residents scattered with the daylight like cockroaches.

He reached his destination and looked surreptitiously about.  In one hand he had his ever-present cane and in the other a small suitcase filled with cash cards and the leash that held Ace at his side.  The large dog kept an alert eye out for anything, and a growl came up in his throat seconds before a voice called from behind, "I told you to come alone."

"He's my guide dog," Bruce replied, although the Great Dane had obviously never had a moment's training in assisting the disabled.

"What, you're blind?" the voice scoffed from behind.

"As a bat," he coldly replied.

"Whatever.  Drop the case and step away."  Bruce did as he was told, stopping only an arm's length away.  The owner of the voice came around and knelt before the case, opening it up.  He checked a few random cards to make sure they were indeed hard currency.  Then he took a device from his pocket and waved it over the pile a few times.  The constant beeping never faltered.  "Good, no tracking device," he said as he replaced the scanner in his pocket and closed the case.  He grabbed the handle and stood facing the old man.  "You know, I could do you a favor and just make her disappear.  She's a real pain in the butt.  See this," he held up his hand for inspection.  A crescent shaped series of indentions was visible on the side.  "She bit me!  And you should hear the language that comes out of her mouth.  That little girl should have been raised better."

"You hurt her and you'll regret you were ever born."

"Old man, I've regretted that for way too long."  Rasco took a step forward and shoved Bruce in the chest.  "But you may be regretting ever living this long."  Ace leapt up at the man, growling and barking.  "Hey!  Get this mutt off me!"

"Down Ace," Bruce commanded.  Once the dog had four feet on the ground he looked at Rasco.  "Where is she?" 

"In due time.  You'll be notified."  He started walking down the street, a small transmitter winking faintly from his shoulder where Bruce had placed it during the scuffle.

After Rasco was far enough away, Bruce spoke into the com mike in his jacket.  "How's the signal?"

*Loud and clear.  And he's definitely heading towards the docks.*

"Good."  Bruce turned and returned to his car.  "Stay close but make sure you're not noticed.  We need him to lead us to her."

*It's not my first day on the job.*

Bruce got into the car but did not start it.  "I know that Terry, I just meant…"

*I know what you meant, and it's ok for you to be worried.  Hey he's getting into a hover boat.*  There was a silence as Batman waited for Rasco to reach his destination.  *There. He's boarding a yacht, called 'Powerful One'.*

Bruce felt his anger rise to a boil.  "Powers," he spit out through gritted teeth.  "I'll kill him."

*You might just get your chance.  He's on his way to the ship as we speak.*

It was endlessly dark.  She couldn't tell when her dreams ended and the nightmare returned.  Her arms had long since gone numb.  A grumble from her stomach suggested this was indeed reality.  Worse than the hunger was the serious dehydration, the gag lay against her tongue like a piece of driftwood.  The lazy rolling of the ship beneath her seemed to mock her.  'Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to spare,' she thought morosely.

At the sound of the door opening she feared she were drifting off again, until the harsh voice called out, "Honey, I'm home."  She heard the thunk of something hitting the floor, and then he said, "Your old man came through after all little girl."  Heavy footsteps from behind and then strong hands gripped her shoulders.  He leaned down and whispered into her ear, "Did you miss me?"  Kendra's heart leapt into high gear as adrenaline was released into her system, and she managed a brief energetic spurt to struggle as his cold, dry lips met the flesh of her neck.   "C'mon doll, it won't be so bad.  Besides you _owe_ me."  His hands slid down her arms.  She tried throwing back her head in an effort to strike him in the face.  He reached up and pinned it with a vice-like grip.  "Save your energy.  You're going to need it."  The door crashed open.  "You?  What are you doing here?"  There was a single, loud gunshot and the hands dropped away.

Kendra did not know whether to be relieved or even more terrified.  She was breathing in harsh gasps.  There was a sense of movement and quiet sounds of activity within the room around her, but no one spoke.  After several tense moments she felt the gag being untied from behind and was on the verge of begging piteously for her life when a voice called out from the doorway, "Get away from her Powers!"

"P-Paxton?" she called out.

"It's alright darling, you're safe now," a soft voice said from behind.  He began removing her restraints.  "I'm afraid you are too late Batman.  Luckily I was just in time to stop this madman from harming Kendra.  I can't believe he had the gall to hold you captive on my ship of all places."  The blindfold was removed, and as she stood up gingerly she turned to see the dead body of her captor lying on the ground not three feet away. Crying out she buried her face in Paxton's chest.  "Let's get you outside and away from this garbage."  He gently ushered her out of the small storage cabin and onto the deck, brushing past the Batman.  Police sirens could be heard as the harbor patrol approached the yacht following an anonymous tip.  The warm noontime sun beat down from overhead.  Kendra pulled away from Paxton, squinting against the harsh light of day.

"Are you ok?" Batman asked, approaching them.

She nodded, still wondering if this were all some strange hallucination.  "I think I'm fine.  Or at least I will be after a glass of water.  And a trip to the lady's room."  She smiled slightly.

"What happened?"

She looked up at her boyfriend.  "Just like he said.  That guy was getting way too touchy-feely.  Another ten seconds and I would have become another statistic and possibly requiring my mail to be forwarded to the morgue.  Paxton saved my life."

"Uh-huh," Batman replied grimly.  He saw the police boarding the ship.  "I'll be going."  He started to fly off, and then turned back.  "Where's the money?"

"I never saw it," Powers answered smoothly.  "Maybe he hid it before coming back to the boat."

The Batman turned a questioning eye to Kendra.  "I was blindfolded, I didn't see a thing."  She shrugged.  With a nod the Bat was gone.

An hour later Kendra stood before the mirror in the ship's elegant bathroom.  She gently touched the swollen spot on her lip where the man, whose name she'd been informed was Joseph Rasco, had backhanded her more than 24 hours earlier.  Beneath her chin, five finger-shaped bruises were developing nicely.  She wet her hands, running them back through her matted hair in an effort to look more presentable.  It really didn't work.

Anger and fear fought for control, alternating fire and ice in her veins.  The fear was easier to handle, always had been.  A quick joke or well-placed verbal jab worked to both cover and soothe.  The anger wasn't so easy ignored.  After years of repression, she had discovered she had developed a taste for it.

She shook her head.  Not this time around.  Even if Rasco were still alive that wouldn't be an option.  But her anger wasn't really directed at him, not entirely at least.

In the mirror she saw the gold locket lying against her breast.  Reaching up she fingered it gently.  She didn't even have to open it to recall the picture within, the faces of her past.  So young with an unlimited future ahead of them – her grandparents who had both turned into raving psychotics.  You couldn't really put a happy face on that one.  On her death, Andrea was quite insane, racked with guilt as a result from her brief career as a murderess.  And sure Batman had operated on a strict no-kill policy, but balanced with all the things he _was_ willing to do, it didn't amount to much.  With such a pedigree was it any wonder she was so screwed up?  An angry fist slammed the countertop.  

"Kendra darling, are you alright?" a gentle voice called from the door.

"I'm fine Paxton, I just need a few more minutes."

"Take as long as you need, but the commissioner is waiting to speak with you."

Right.  The commissioner needed her statement.  "I'll be right out."  Walking out of the small room she entered a much larger area where guests could be entertained if they did not want to take in the sun from the deck.  On her left Paxton stood at the bar mixing drinks, to her right Barbara Gordon, wearing her trademark trench coat, rose from the sofa.

"How are you feeling?" the older woman asked in a kind voice.

She walked over and took the commissioner's outstretched hand.  "I'm much better now, but I'm still very parched."

"This should take care of that my dear," Paxton said handing her a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid.

Her eyes narrowed and she said in a hard voice, "I'm severely dehydrated and you bring me alcohol?"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"No you weren't."  Her face softened with a smile.  "But you'll get me some water and everything will be just fine."

"Of course."  He returned to the bar.

Quietly Barbara whispered, "I must say I didn't imagine Mr. Powers could be so…"

"Housebroken?" Kendra filled in.

"I was going to say devoted," she said with a slight smile.

He returned with another glass, which Kendra accepted gratefully.  "Thank you so much darling, now if you'll give us some privacy."  She turned to Gordon.  "I assume you want to speak to me alone."

"Yes I think that would be best."  The both looked up at him.

"Ok, I know when I'm not wanted.  I'll be right outside if you need me."

Once he was gone Barbara got down to business.  "Tell me everything you remember, from the beginning."

Kendra took a sip of water, organizing her thoughts.  She related her abduction from the street corner and waking up on the boat through the terrorizing moments culminating with Rasco's death.  "After he left me I kind of drifted in and out of sleep.  Then he came back and I thought I was a goner.  If Paxton hadn't shown up…"  She shivered.

"And you have now idea where the money is?"

"Commissioner I can honestly say I never saw it."

"Well I think that about does it.  The body's been removed.  I have a few questions for Mr. Powers and I'll be on my way."  She stood and they both went outside.  Paxton rose from a deck chair and walked over to them.  "You do have a license for that gun don't you Powers?"

"Of course Commissioner.  Since that unfortunate incident with my father I find it necessary to be protected at all times.  Our family has acquired numerous enemies."

"No doubt," Barbara responded dryly.  "Any idea why Rasco would choose your boat?"

"He must have been planning this for some time, watching Kendra and likely me as well.  He would have known I spend very little time out here.  Business just keeps me way too occupied."

"Then what were you doing coming out today?"

Kendra watched him intently, saw him slightly moisten his lips.  "Truthfully Commissioner, I was so worried about Kendra I felt the need to get away from the city."  Putting an arm around her shoulders he smiled.  "And I am ever so grateful for following my impulse."

"I guess that's all I have.  Except for finding the money, this case is closed.  Can I give you a ride to shore?" she asked.  "I know Bruce must be worried sick about you."

"I don't think it's humanly possible for Bruce to be worried sick about anything.  Thank you, but no.  I'd like to stay awhile and thank Paxton properly."

With a curt nod Barbara Gordon stepped into the awaiting harbor patrol vehicle and headed back to shore.

Kendra waved pleasantly to the departing crew and then turned to Paxton.  He smiled down and took her hand in his.  "Can I do anything for you dear?"

"Oh you certainly can.  You can tell me who the hell you think you are."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you."  He looked quizzically at her.

"You had me kidnapped to extort money from my grandfather, you pathetic worm," she spat with rancor.

"I…I…You're obviously suffering from shock.  Maybe you need to see a doctor.  Come sit down."

"I don't need a doctor and I don't want to sit down.  I know that Rasco had the money with him when he came back and I know you hid it after you killed him.  Was that the plan all along, to murder him instead of following through with the deal you made?"

"Kendra…"  He dropped his hands.  "No, I was going to pay him.  But I saw him touching you and I became enraged.  He was warned not to hurt you."

"Newsflash Paxton, he'd already hurt me.  Look at these bruises."  She lifted her chin.

"I know sweetheart, but you weren't being very cooperative.  Mr. Rasco has little patience for strong-willed women.  I think he was reserved under the circumstances."  He smiled.

"Cooperative?  I was _kidnapped_ for God's sake."  She closed her eyes; this would get her nowhere.  "Why?  Just tell me why."

"It was simply business darling.  I have some personal ventures to take care of and I could not get enough liquid assets from the company without causing too many questions."  She moaned.  "You were never supposed to be in any real danger.  I will make this up to you, I swear."

She raised her eyes to his, a deadly calm washing over her.  "Yes, you will.  You own, what, 38% of Wayne-Powers stock, that your father signed over to you?"  He nodded.  "That's more than anyone else, which entitles you to be chairman of the board, but it is not enough for a majority, so big decisions have to go before all the stockholders, right?"  He nodded again, face full of confusion and wariness.  "But added to my grandfather's 20% and that would be a majority, in effect ownership of the company."  She grinned at him.  "Not bad for someone who almost flunked her business courses, huh?  Now, stick with me dear because I'm getting to the good stuff.  You are going to sign over your stock to me.  It should be worth at least 10 million."

"More like ten times that."  Paxton looked like he'd been punched in the stomach.  "Are you insane?" he sputtered at her.

"That's entirely possible, but irrelevant at the moment."

"Kendra, I can't just sign over 38% of Wayne-Powers stock to you.  That would be too suspicious and raise too many questions.  It would be…"

Her hand reached up and her fingers buried in his hair.  She leaned in close and whispered, "It will be a wedding gift to your new bride.  Oh don't look at me like that, you know we've got something."  Her other hand slid beneath his jacket and she brought his face towards hers as she drew her tongue slowly across his lips.

He sighed and placed his forehead against hers.  "What you are asking is impossible."

"I'm not asking Paxton, I'm telling.  If it's so impossible then I guess I'll just call Commissioner Gordon back.  Since my head has had a chance to clear, I'm remembering a few more important details."  Her voice dropped low, "And just what do you think Bruce will do when he finds out what you've done."

"I'm not afraid of him."

"You should be."

"So I give you everything with nothing in return?"

"You'll have me of course, which should be more than enough.  And if it's not, don't forget you do get to stay out of prison.  Plus if you're a really good boy you can remain the front man at Wayne-Powers, so you won't be unemployed."

"I wouldn't be my father's puppet, what makes you think I want to be yours?" he growled.

Her hand found the sensitive spot she'd discovered several weeks earlier and he moaned in response.  "Because with me the fringe benefits will be much better."

"I've had men killed for less than what you are doing."  His arms went around her waist.

"And I've _killed_ men for less than what you've done," she responded, stroking the back of his neck.

His eyes widened for an instant, and then the corners of his mouth turned up.  "I knew there was a reason I liked you."  His mouth found hers.

After several passionate moments she pushed him away.  "Not until after."

"After the wedding?" he asked.

"No silly, after you sign over those stocks.  Now go call your lawyer." 

"Can you believe she fell for that garbage?    I mean he just happens to show up and save the day?  You're not going to let him get away with it are you?"  Batman sat atop the Wayne-Powers building surveying the city.  It was dark and he was still fuming at having been trumped by Powers.

*What do you suggest I do?  There's no evidence he was involved.*

"Well at least you could stop her from seeing him anymore.  What does she see in that over-polished fake anyway?"

*If you're done with your patrol, come back.*

"But shouldn't I get over to the harbor and make sure everything's all right?  She hasn't come home yet."

*They're gone, Terry,* the old man said softly.  *Just get back here.*

Returning to the base, Terry walked over and saw a more somber than usual Bruce staring down at a pile of papers held in his hands.  "What's going on?" he asked quietly.  Without answering the old man handed him the top paper.  It was a note handwritten in a feminine script:

_Bruce,_

_By the time you read this we'll be gone, sailing to Europe for our honeymoon.  I'm sure you are wondering why I've chosen to elope with the man who had me kidnapped, and the simple answer is that I love him.  Not that I'll be telling _him_ that any time soon.  He's falling all over himself trying to keep me happy; that's just the way I like my men.  And don't think he's just going to get away with it.  He'll be doing penance for a very long time.  After all, marriage to me is like a life sentence without parole, isn't it?_

_As for the money, I hope what I have enclosed will make up for it.  Paxton assures me they're worth much more than 10 million, but more importantly they give you controlling interest in Wayne-Powers.  It's your company again.  Although I assumed you wouldn't want to deal with the boring day to day details so I told Paxton he could remain the public, if powerless, head of the business.  Don't worry, I can handle him._

_That's about it, other than thank you.  And I hope I haven't broken my promise to you; I hope I haven't disappointed you by taking off so suddenly, but I'm sure the truth is you're relieved to have me out from under your nose.  After all I know I'm just a constant reminder of bad memories._

_I'll be back in about a month.  We'll talk then.  Take care of yourself.  _

_Kendra_

"Wow," Terry said after reading the letter.  "Do you really own the company now?"

"Yes," Bruce replied.

"Are you going to be ok?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"  He was staring at the blank screen of the computer.

"No reason I guess.  I'll see you tomorrow."

Bruce didn't answer as Terry made his way out of the cave.

Continued?


	3. Part III

Part III 

June

Murmuring rose around the large conference table as board members discussed amongst themselves the recent developments concerning the management of Wayne-Powers.

The sudden and unexpected disappearance of Paxton Powers, Chairman of the Board, had sent the shareholders reeling in a frenzy of uncertainty, until Bruce Wayne had come forward explaining he now held 57% of the company's stock, but assured them Powers would return in the roll of president as soon as his much deserved vacation was over.  Rumors abounded in the financial community regarding the amazing turn of events, but few if any facts were known.

That was three months ago, yet there was still no sign of Powers' return.  An emergency meeting of the board of directors had been called by a man named Finck who wanted to declare Powers' prolonged absence as grounds for immediate dismissal, no doubt to assume the position himself.

The room fell silent as the double doors were opened.  Bruce Wayne strode across the threshold with barely concealed disdain, followed closely by his personal aide, Terry McGinnis.  Wayne took his position at the head of the table, but remained standing, signaling perhaps a desire to conclude the business at hand with little discussion.  Terry leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, as if bracing for an oncoming windstorm.

"Thank you for coming Bruce," Finck began, rising from his chair so as to be on equal footing with the towering man.  "As you well know Powers has been missing for over three months.   This company requires some form of steady leadership.  Frankly it's just too big to be delegating to a handful of vice-presidents.  Since it's well known that you are not in a position to maintain a full-time interest I propose that the Board terminate Powers effective immediately and - "

"No."  The word was not spoken with any great volume or passion, but the tone was pure authority and stopped Finck's soliloquy immediately.

Whispering started as speculation flew around the table on hummingbird wings.  

Clearing his throat Finck made a further attempt.  "Bruce, I cannot understand your insistence on keeping Paxton here.  I've been on this board since his father stole the company out from under you, I know there's no love lost on that family.  If he has some kind of hold over you…"  Finck left the rest of his thought unsaid.  The most common rumor circulating concerned Wayne's newly discovered granddaughter, who coincidentally had not been seen since Powers took off on his abrupt vacation, but no one had the nerve to come right out and ask him about it.

"All you need to understand is that what I say goes, and I'm saying there will be no changes in the management at Wayne-Powers.  I have complete faith in my vice-presidents and if a _real_ crisis should come up then call me.  Otherwise ladies and gentleman, good day."

He turned and marched back to the door, Terry following on his heels.  Together they rode the elevator in silence.  It was only after they were closed in the car that Terry asked, "That must be pretty galling, having to defend Powers like that."

"Not as hard as you'd think," was the cryptic reply.

Terry started the car and pulled out into traffic.  "Why bother?" he thought out loud.  "I mean just let 'em can the guy.  It's not like you owe him anything."  He cast a sideways glance at the old man whose face always seemed so hard and emotionless.  This time, however, Terry seemed to notice there was some emotion breaking through, although he couldn't figure out which one it was.  Changing tactics he asked, "How long has it been since you heard from them?"

"A postcard five weeks ago."

Terry nodded, mostly to himself.  They had entirely avoided the subject of Kendra's elopement (_Defection_, Terry thought sullenly to himself) with Paxton since Bruce had handed him her note three months ago.  Terry had found the postcard from London laying on a table, one side had shown Big Ben in all his clockwork glory and the other held four hastily scribbled sentences:  "Paris was a blast.  England's too dreary.  We're fine.  See you soon.  K"  

Easing onto the interchange bypass, Terry cleared his throat.  "Maybe something's happened to them.  Something out at sea?"

"Nothing's happened," Bruce replied tersely.

Terry was about to ask him how he could be so sure when it occurred to him that the old man was keeping tabs on them.  It would certainly be his style.  Instead he decided to brave uncharted territory.  "Well maybe it'd be better if they never came back.  Powers is always bad news and she's been nothing but trouble since she showed up."  He felt a twinge of regret for the last comment; he had once liked Kendra, but recent events had cooled him towards her.  Silence was his only answer as traffic sped around them from all sides.  "Listen," he tried again.  "It may be none of my business, but sometimes it really is better if you talk about the stuff that's bothering you.  It's not healthy to keep it all bottled up."

"You're right," Bruce replied slowly and Terry felt his heart thump.  "It _is_ none of your business."

The younger man turned his head to look at the other, who had been his mentor for the last two years.  "I don't believe you!" he cried out in anger.  "How can you just shut me out like this?"

Bruce suddenly shouted, "Terry, look out!"

A truck had cut in front of them and then braked unexpectedly.  Terry swore sharply under his breath.  Later he would reflect that had he been in the Batwing he could have gotten them out of harm's way instantly, but the old car did not have a state of the art propulsion system or direct access via the batsuit.  He slammed his foot on the brake pedal and jerked the wheel to the left hoping to snake around the newly developed obstacle.  A light drizzle throughout the day had left the roads wet and slick causing the old-style rubber tires to hydroplane and they slid directly into the other vehicle at a 90-degree angle, coming to a jarringly sudden stop.

Once the world stopped spinning Terry managed to look up.  The windshield was a spider web of cracks, but he could see other motorists easing around the crash scene.  He moaned as he tested his body, a sharp pain radiating from his left shoulder suggesting dislocation, and then turned towards the passenger seat.  "That was unpleasant."  His brows came together as he saw for the first time the slumped figure next to him.  As the point of impact, the door was crinkled inwards and he felt a cool draft of air coming through the shattered window.  "Oh no," he breathed, reaching over gingerly, wincing as his arm bumped the steering column.  He brought a hand up and touched Bruce lightly on the shoulder, which caused the head to droop even more.  A dark liquid droplet appeared on his chin and fell into his open palm.  As it splattered Terry saw the red color, and for a moment the world went dark.

"Hey, everyone alright in here?"  Terry blinked and turned to see the driver's side door was open and a man in a GPD beat uniform peering in.  Terry heard the approaching sounds of sirens.  "You ok kid?" he asked

"Um, my arm," he started and then remembered.  "I'm fine, but he's hurt real bad.  You gotta get him to the hospital, now!"

"Easy kid, we will.  Now, can you get out on your own?"

"No, I mean yes I can, but I'm not leaving him."

The cop, who was probably only a few years older than Terry himself, smiled reassuringly.  "I understand, but you hit that truck pretty hard.  It's going to take some time separating them.  Meanwhile, we'll have to remove him from this side, ok?"

Terry nodded numbly and muttered to himself, "This is all my fault."

"Don't beat yourself up about it kid.  I saw the whole thing.  That truck came out of nowhere.  Looked like you controlled the skid pretty good.  Things could have been a whole lot worse."

In Terry's opinion, hell must be a lot like a hospital waiting room.  Sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his left arm held in a sling that the emergency room techs gave him after popping the shoulder back into place, he awaited the news of Bruce Wayne's fate.  Closing his eyes, he continued to see the whole thing played out over and over.  He got angry, he took his eyes off of the road, he crashed them into the truck.  

Finally an older woman with ash blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun and wire-rimmed glasses over gray eyes walked into the waiting area and approached him.  She wore a white lab coat and a stethoscope around her neck.  "Mr. McGinnis?" she asked softly.

"That's right."

"I'm Dr. Penelope Greenlough," she smiled and paused for a moment.

"Is Mr. Wayne ok?" Terry asked.

Nodding, she said, "He's stable at the moment.  I'm a neurologist.  I was called in to consult on Mr. Wayne's case."  Terry took a sharp breath, eyes wide.  "It's ok, it's just SOP with a head injury, but I do have to ask, does Mr. Wayne have any family?"

"No," Terry began automatically, and then caught himself.  "Well, yeah, I guess he does now.  He's got a granddaughter, but she's away on her honeymoon."

"Is there any way you can contact her and have her return?"

"Why?  What's wrong?"

"Mr. Wayne has had a severe head trauma.  We've introduced neurological regenerators, what some people call neurobots.  They're microscopic synthoids that contain protein and amino acids to repair damaged nerve and brain cells that the body is unable to alone.  This treatment has been found to be very successful and in a younger patient I wouldn't hesitate to predict at least an 80% recovery.  However as the body ages brain cells naturally break down, calcification occurs, often times leading to senile dementia…"

"He's completely sane," Terry cut in, understanding on some level the irony in labeling someone who'd spent 30 plus years in a bat costume 'completely sane.'

Dr. Greenlough nodded sympathetically.  "That may be true."  She took a deep breath.  "What I'm trying to tell you is that he's had a severe injury and the damage just may be too excessive.  Technically he is brain dead now and being kept alive by artificial means.  If the regenerators are successful he should awaken within a day or two, if not he'll remain the way he is indefinitely…" she trailed off, her eyes imploring him to understand.

"You need someone to authorize disconnecting the life-support," Terry said dully.

"Yes.  Please believe I am not being pessimistic, just pragmatic.  As doctors we must hope for the best, but prepare for the worst."

"I'll find her.  Can I see him now?"

She cocked her head at him and asked, "You work for him, correct?"

"Yes, but he's also my…" _Teacher?  Father?_  "Friend."

"A friendly presence can only help.  Come on, I'll show you to his room."

They entered a room where the most prominent feature was a shrouded figure that only bore a passing resemblance to the man known as Bruce Wayne.  A steady beeping of the cardiac monitor was accompanied by rhythmic shushing as the respirator pumped air into his lungs.  Among the wires monitoring his vital signs were various tubes inserted subcutaneously to provide liquid and nutrients as well as the powerful neurobots that attempted to reverse time.

Terry stood motionless just inside the doorway and felt for a moment the return of the incredible loss he had felt upon discovering the death of his father, Warren.  "All my fault," he whispered involuntarily.

A gentle hand on his shoulder reminded him he was not alone.  "Guilt won't bring him back, Mr. McGinnis.  For his sake, if not for your own, try to let it go."   With her final words, Dr. Greenlough stepped back into the corridor and allowed the door to close softly behind her.

Terry walked to the edge of the bed.  Bruce's head was bandaged and his eyes were closed as if simply asleep, the right puffed and swollen.  "You've got to wake up," he said to the motionless figure.  "I can't do this without you."  He licked his lips and looked out the window at Gotham's skyline of towering buildings, hover cars slipping between them like gnats.  "It's just too much for one person.  I have so much more to learn from you.  I'm just some fool in a suit."

"Don't sell yourself short, kid." 

Startled, Terry whirled around to face the new visitor.  "Commissioner Gordon!  What are you doing here?  Not that you shouldn't be here.  I was going to call you later."

She walked over and laid a hand on his arm.  "News that Gotham's most prominent citizen was involved in a car accident and rushed to the hospital gets to me pretty quick.  How are you holding up?"

"My arm hurts like crazy, but I'm otherwise fine.  He's…he's…"  Terry shut his eyes.

"That's ok Terry.  I've already talked to the doctor.  I'm sure he'll be fine.  They don't make 'em with much thicker heads."

He made a weak attempt to smile, and then said grimly, "I've got to find Kendra.  They need a family member available."  He felt a tidal wave of anger roll over him.  Wayne should have made him power of attorney when he turned 18, after that stunt Derek Powers had tried to pull.

"I know, I'll take care of it.  Do you have any idea where they might be?"

"He got a postcard from London about a month ago."

"That's a good start.  I'll contact Interpol.  Shouldn't be too hard to locate that ship."

"Wait a minute – you know about Kendra and Powers?"

"Yes Terry.  Bruce called me for some advice shortly after."

"Advice on what?"

"Whether or not he should go after them and bring her back."

Terry was stunned.  "You can't be serious.  What did you say?"

"Well, I asked him if he thought she'd been taken against her will or coerced in any way."  She raised a single eyebrow.  "He assured me if there was any coercion she was the instigator.  He didn't elaborate, I don't suppose you'd care to fill me in on the details?"  Terry simply shrugged his shoulders.  "I'll take that as a 'no comment'.  Anyway I explained that from a legal standpoint he had no options.  She is an adult and is free to make her own choices, no matter how bad they are."  She looked over at the bed.  "It was always hard for him to understand that concept.  The man's an exceptional fighter and a genius, but his parenting skills were always lacking.  If it wasn't for Alfred, I don't know what would have become of those boys.

"Listen, I've got to get back to the office, I just wanted to stop in and see what the situation was.  Why don't you go home and get some rest?  There isn't much anyone can do at this point."

"No, thank you Commissioner.  I'll stay here with him.  Someone needs to."

"At least give your mother a call, Terry."

He was dozing in the chair.  It had been almost 24 hours since the accident.  After a short phone call to his mother explaining where he'd be, he pulled the chair up and began his vigil.  A few hours later Gordon had called to inform him she'd located Kendra in Madrid and she'd be heading back on the first flight to Gotham.

"I can't believe you found her so quickly," he'd admitted to her.

"It's what I do for a living," was her response before hanging up.

He'd gone back to silently watching his mentor lay there, listening to the ever-present beeping of the heart monitor and nodding silent acknowledgements to the nursing staff that occasionally checked up on him.  He knew he should have gone out on patrol, Bruce would certainly have told him that, but he couldn't drag himself away.  He excused it away in his mind by saying his shoulder was still hurt.

Eyes closed, he heard the door open, but thinking it was just another nurse, he kept them closed.

"Hello Terry," the soft voice said.

She was back.  Suppressing a groan, he looked up at her.  He was shocked by what he saw.  Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and her travel clothes were disheveled.  A single suitcase sat at her feet.  Any traveler would be expected to look tired after a long trip, but Kendra looked haggard, the bags under her eyes gave a haunted appearance.  Her mouth was a grim slash across her face making her look years older, and Terry wondered to himself what could have made the pretty girl he'd met a year ago age so rapidly.

"Rough trip?" he asked softly.

"Eight hours with a screaming two year old behind me.  How is he?"

Terry stood and stretched his limbs.  "You came straight from the airport?"  He knew he was stalling.

"Yeah, I took a cab directly here.  What happened?  Barbara was a little vague on the phone.  Is he asleep?"

"It was a car accident."  She nodded for him to continue.  "It's pretty bad.  Head injury.  The doctors are giving him neurological regenerators."  He shrugged.

"Regenerators?  Like what they gave me when they thought I'd broken my back?  How bad is _bad_, Terry?"

"He's brain dead."  

She blinked at him.  "Wh-what?"

"Brain…dead," he repeated slowly.

"Is he going to be all right?"

"The doctors don't know Kendra.  That's why you're here."  He was starting to feel very angry.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Look at him.  What do you think's going to happen if they don't work?  You think he'll just stay like that forever?  Someone has to make the decision."

Her eyes widened.  "You mean…?  You can't ask me to do that!"

"_I'm_ not asking you!  If it were up to me you wouldn't even be here."  He crossed the room and stood in front of the window.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" she asked his back.

"Where's Paxton?" he asked sarcastically in response.

"He's not coming, not that it's any of your business.  What does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't suppose he ever told you he once tried to have Bruce killed?"

"No," she said slowly.  "Care to elaborate?"

"Your husband's a creep, Kendra.  He made a deal with the Royal Flush Gang.  If King hadn't double crossed him, who knows?"

"Why isn't he in jail then," she asked dubiously.

"Lots of money, slick lawyers, and circumstantial evidence.  He was acquitted."  Terry finally turned around and looked at her.  "Get one thing straight – I don't want you here.  But I don't want to see him like this, it's not right.  If they can't help him, you need tell them to let him go."

She shook her head.  "I just can't deal with this right now.  I've got to call my mother."  She turned and walked to the door.

Terry couldn't help himself.  He was tired, and angry, and hurting.  "Maybe you just don't have the backbone for it," he growled to her in his 'Batman' voice.

Hand on the doorknob, she stopped, back stiff.  Turning back to face him she said, "I am so sorry."

"Sorry?  You killed three people.  You're insane."

"Maybe I was."

Disgusted, he sneered at her.  "What I don't get is why _he_ put up with it.  If it was any one else…"  He shook his head.  "What is it about you?"

"I wish I knew."  Her eyes narrowed.  "What's the matter Terry, jealous?  Jealous that I'm going to replace you, in the suit or in his affections?"  He didn't answer her, but she continued on as if he had.  "Because really, you've got nothing to worry about.  Let's face facts – I'm a screw-up.  I'm never going to be more than an irritating inconvenience.  You've earned his trust and pride, I never will.  You don't want me here?  I'm sure that makes two of you!"

Their heated exchange was halted by a shrill alarm from the monitoring equipment.  Both turned their heads to see Bruce, eyes wide open, staring directly at them.  Almost immediately a medical team, Dr. Greenlough in the lead, stormed in the room, pushing the two young people back into the corner.

Bruce had raised a hand and was pawing at the tube in his mouth.  Dr. Greenlough pushed the hand away.  "Mr. Wayne can you hear me?"  Looking at the EKG she said, "He's going into cardiac arrest, push an amp of epinephrine."  One of the team inserted a syringe into the IV line and injected the drug.  "Turn off that respirator."  After a few moments the alarm went silent and the normal beat of the cardiac monitor returned.  Smiling down she said, "Good to see you Mr. Wayne.  Can you understand me?  Blink twice for yes.  That's terrific, now I'm going to remove this tube from your mouth, but I'll need your help.  Take a deep breath, then when I tell you to, blow it out as hard as you can.  Ready?  Ok, blow."  She pulled the long tube, causing Bruce to cough and gasp for breath.  "Get the head of the bed up," she commanded.  He sat back and took several deep breaths.  The rest of the team gathered the various equipment, and departed from the room.

Dr. Greenlough looked down at Bruce.  "Better?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Good.  Now for a few tests.  Can you tell me your full name?"  She proceeded to question him on a number of other things, testing his cognitive, memory, and logic processes.  Then, she made a perfunctory physical examination.

"Well, you seem to have made a remarkable, I daresay miraculous, recovery.  There is some loss of motor function in your left arm, which is not a surprise considering the extent of your injuries.  It may be temporary, but then again it may not.  Needless to say, if that's all you walk away with, you're a very lucky man."

"Good, then I can go home?"

"Sure, in about a week," she replied, making a notation in his chart.

"Now."

She looked up at him.  "Mr. Wayne you do have a fractured cranium and a concussion, you still have a lot of healing left to do."

"And it can be done from home."

She sighed at his stubbornness.  "Tomorrow.  But it is against my better judgment, and only if there is someone to look after you."

"I'll be there," Kendra said quietly.

Dr. Greenlough nodded.  "Fine, but if he starts showing any unusual behavior, I want him back in her instantly, understood?"

"Unusual behavior, check," Kendra replied.

"I'll write a prescription for pain medication.  He'll probably be suffering headaches for quite sometime.  Now, you rest."

"Can I speak to them, alone?"

Flicking her eyes, she said in a tone that allowed no debate, "Five minutes, not a second longer."  She swept out the door leaving the trio.

Kendra and Terry stood side by side next to the bed, awaiting the expected diatribe.  He stared at each of them in turn, corners of his lips turned down slightly.  Finally he said, "I trust I've made myself clear."

"Perfectly."

"Absolutely."

"Good.  Now go away."

When he woke up his head pounded worse than it had in years, of course those times had usually been caused by severe head trauma too.  It was almost like old times.  He was just grateful to be in his own bed.  Hospitals left him feeling too vulnerable.  Dressing slowly, avoiding moving his head more than necessary, he managed to complete his morning routine without assistance.

The sun was slowly coming up over the horizon.  He estimated that he must have slept for almost 18 hours, since returning from the hospital the day before.  That was normally unheard of for him, but the doctor had assured him his body would require longer resting periods to finish the healing process.

He made his way down the staircase.  Ace waited expectantly at the bottom.  He tried to scratch the big dog's ears, but the fingers of his left hand just wouldn't work properly.  Growling in his throat, he was about to turn towards the cave entrance when he heard a noise in the dining room and went to investigate.

Kendra sat at the head of the large table eating breakfast and scanning the web on her laptop.  He was about to turn and walk away when she stood abruptly and walked towards the kitchen.  "Sit," she called over her shoulder at him.

He took the chair to her right and she returned almost immediately with a tray.  She placed a plate of food and a glass of orange juice before him.  He noted she was using the good China that had been in storage since Alfred died.  What exactly had she been up to while he was out?

"Eat," she commanded, seating herself again.

On the plate were scrambled eggs, whole-wheat toast, and a banana.  "What's this?"

For the first time, it seemed, she looked at him.  "Breakfast.  Surely you've heard of the concept."

"I'm not really…"

"You have to eat," she cut in.  "You need your strength.  And if you're not going to stay in the hospital to recover like you should, then you're just going to have to compromise."  She returned her attention to the laptop.

He took a bite of the eggs and realized he was in fact starving.  "What are you doing?" he asked after a few bites.

"Looking for a job."

"Why?  What about Paxton?"

Instead of addressing his question she asked, "Why didn't you tell me he tried to have you killed?"  He found he couldn't hold her eyes and turned to look out the window.  "Of course, that would have required some form of communication, wouldn't it?"

"Like the communication I've received from you these last three months?"  She sighed and buried her face in her hands.  "Would it have made any difference?" he asked her.

"Of course it would have."  Her words were muffled.  "I would have realized what a jerk he was sooner."  Wearily she looked up.  "I left him.  As soon as Barbara called I packed my bag and walked out without even saying goodbye."  She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly.  "It was all a huge mistake."

"So you tried to solve your problem by running away again?"

Her eyebrows shot up.  "That's right, I did.  Not that you would understand.  You've never had to run away from your problems, they all run from you," she spat.  The silence that followed was brittle.  Her words were harsh, but that didn't make them any less true.

"You need to learn from your mistakes," he said finally.

"I do.  I just keep making brand new ones."  She smiled slightly.  "I don't suppose you know a good divorce lawyer?"

"I've had one on retainer since you left."

She stared at him for a moment, and then threw her head back and laughed.  It reminded him of the bold as brass young woman who'd dared suggest to him that there was a life above ground.  He felt himself smiling at her when a bolt of pain shot through his head, causing fireworks of lights behind his eyes.  Unable to help himself he groaned and placed his hand against the bandages.

She leapt up from the chair.  "Is it your head?"  He managed to groan in response.  Out of nowhere a medicine bottle appeared and she poured a small pink pill into her palm.  After a second's consideration she added another to it.  "Here, take these."

"No," he managed, trying to push the hand away from him.  "I'll be fine."

"You either take them on your own, or I'll hold your head back and force them down your throat like you have to do to a cat."

He looked up into her face and saw it hardened in cold determination.  It was the same look he'd seen in the mirror for more years than he could count.  Grudgingly Bruce reached up and took the pills from her.  She tried to hand him a glass of juice to wash them down with but he simply swallowed them dry.  Setting the glass back down, she leaned against the table and crossed her arms over her chest.

After several moments the painkillers seemed to take effect.  The sharpness of the pain had dulled to a mild thud and the lights had been dispersed.  He raised his head.  "Better?" she asked softly.  The hardness of her features was gone but had been replaced by weariness and concern.  He nodded.  Mouth suddenly dry, he reached for the juice, but his fingers couldn't quite make it around the glass and it overturned.  She quickly righted it and blotted the spilled liquid.  "It's ok, it's just the meds.  Let's get you upstairs."

His eyes narrowed.  "No, I've slept enough."  His words seemed to echo in his ears.

"Well I don't think you're going to have much of a choice.  You can either pass out here or upstairs in your bed."

She helped him out of the chair.  "I'm never taking those again," he muttered to her as she steered him to the staircase.  He never drank to excess in his youth for the simple reason that loss of inhibitions and control were abhorrent to him.  This was the same thing.  The pain would be preferable to this.  Watching his feet take each step he heard himself say to her, "You hate me don't you?"

"Ridiculous.  Why would you say such a thing?"

"You think I'm a monster."  Deep inside he cringed.  Those pink pills were going down the drain.

They'd reached his door.  She was silent until they were through and he was seated on the bed facing her.  "I'm the only monster here.  You never killed anyone."

"Because of me."

"No.  I am who I am.  Between a neurotic mother and a greedy, good-for-nothing father, I think I got everything I needed for that."  She smiled sweetly, "But from my grandmother I got a terrific sense of humor and stylish flare.  And from you, eternal perseverance and optimism."

"Never been called optimistic before," he said, words slightly slurred and eyelids heavy.

"No?  Devoting your entire life to the pursuit of right over wrong, even when all the odds are against you?  I think that's pretty optimistic, don't you?" 

He nodded and fell back onto the pillow.  It was harder to keep his eyes open.  Taking her hand he said, "Andrea."  He felt her stiffen.  "Sorry.  Kendra."

"I don't mind," she said softly.

"Need you.  Don't leave."

"I'm not going anywhere.  Not this time.  I promise."  She brushed her fingers across his forehead.  "Just get better."  The darkness finally came and he floated away on it.

Terry entered the cave from the exterior hoping to avoid seeing Kendra.  He jogged up to the control center that was the Batcomputer.  "How're you feeling today?  I knew you couldn't stay away for long."

The large chair turned around to face him, but it wasn't Wayne.  "You are irresistible Terry, I can't deny it."  She smirked at him.

He rolled his eyes.  "What are you doing down here?  Where's Bruce?"

"Upstairs.  He had to take some pain meds earlier.  They kind of knocked him out."  She looked off into the dark reaches of the cavern.  "I was just down here thinking."

He scoffed.  "What?  You looking to redecorate?"  He disappeared behind a screen to change.

"We used to be friends Terry," she reminded him.

"Well that was before you tried to alienate my girlfriend.  And before you went on a killing spree."  He walked out dressed in the black and red Batman suit minus the mask.  His voice darkened.  "And before you broke the old man's heart."  He watched guilt wash the color out of her cheeks.  "Go back to your rich husband so we can get back to our lives."

"I'm divorcing Paxton," she said quietly.

"Shame.  You two really deserved each other."

"Shouldn't you be on patrol?"  They both looked up to see Bruce coming down the stairs.

"Right.  I'm outta here."  He slipped the mask on and jumped into the Batwing and rocketing out of the cave.

Bruce watched him go, and then walked the rest of the way to his chair.  He motioned with his hand and Kendra gave up the seat for him.  

"Glad to see you up and about," she said.  "How's the head?"

"Fine."

"Good.  That's good.  I guess I'm heading back up.  I still need to find a job."

"I hear there's an opening at Wayne-Powers."

She turned back towards him.  "Oh?  Like a secretary?  I suppose I could do that."

"Not a secretary.  President."

She stared for a moment then laughed.  "That's the pills talking.  Next time I'll only give you one."

"There won't be a next time.  And I'm perfectly fine.  I'm serious."

She shook her head.  "I'm not qualified for that."

"It won't be difficult.  You'll smile, shake hands, and bring any issues back to me.  In time you'll learn to do it all by yourself."

"I can't even believe you'd suggest such a thing."  She turned to walk away.

"Kendra, you are not a screw-up."  She stopped but stood facing away from him.  "You make rash decisions," he continued, "based solely on your emotions.  You are far more intelligent than you give yourself credit.  If you learned reasoning and patience, you'd be formidable.  I believe in you."

She drew a breath, and then turned.  "President of a Fortune 500 company before the age of 25?  Dad would be so proud."  She shook her head.  "Why did I say that?  Why would I care what he thinks?"

"He'll always be your father."  The unspoken corollary hung between them.

"I guess I could try until you find someone more qualified."

"You will do it for as long as you wish.  No one will replace you until you are ready to go.  Now get some rest.  They're expecting you at eight sharp tomorrow."  He turned back to the console.

"I just want you to be proud of me," she said before ascending the stairs.

"I already am," he replied to the empty space surrounding him.  Touching a button he hailed his young protégé.  "Terry are you there?"

*Yeah,* was his quiet reply.  *I'm watching a bunch of Jokerz in the park.  I think they're up to no good.*  Then, *Hang on, they're on the move.*  For several minutes Bruce heard the sounds of a struggle as Terry stopped the gang's latest endeavor.  Finally he said, *Stupid clowns, got no finesse.*

"Terry I need to talk to you."

*Shoot.*

"I need you to try and get along with Kendra."

There was silence, and then Terry replied, *Why?*

"I'm putting her in charge of Wayne-Powers.  You may find it beneficial to stay on her good side."

*So what you're saying is if I don't play nice, I don't get to keep my fancy toys,* Terry spoke through gritted teeth.  *And if she wants to tag along with Batman I'm just supposed to let her?  I don't need - don't want - a sidekick, especially _that_ lunatic.*

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear.  My granddaughter will never be directly involved in Batman's activities.  She is never to be in costume.  _Ever_.  Do you understand?"

*Yeah, I guess.*

"Promise me."

*I promise,* Terry responded.  *Just out of curiosity, why?*

"Let's just say she takes things a little too far."

*Like killing people?*

"It's not that simple."

*What makes her so safe out of costume?*

"She can be as ruthless as she wants in the boardroom, it will even be an asset, but there's a fine line between serving justice and taking revenge."

*She belongs in jail Bruce and you know it.  Why are you protecting her?*

Bruce was quiet for several moments as he contemplated the simple question.  An image of Andrea floated in his mind's eye.  "Everyone deserves a second chance Terry.  You are the natural successor to Batman, and she will be the heir to Bruce Wayne."

*I guess I just assumed…*

"Do you really believe you can take the controls of Wayne-Powers _and_ be Batman?"

*I suppose not.*

"You need to work together.  As a team.  If you don't think you can do that, I'll make other arrangements for you, but it would mean a lot to me if you could."

*For you I'll try.*

"Good.  Now let's talk about my car."

End part III


	4. Part IV

Author's note:  I only just recently discovered that my profile prohibited anonymous reviews.  This was not intentional and has been fixed.  So if you avoided reviewing earlier chapters because of this, please feel free to go back and do so.  I'd really like to get some feedback on this.  Thanks a bunch and enjoy! Part IV 

"Terry!  Your breakfast is getting cold."

"I'll be right out," Terry McGinnis shouted back to his mother.  He had just finished showering and was vigorously rubbing his jet-black hair with a towel as he emerged from the bathroom, dressed only from the waist down.

Making a beeline to the kitchen via the living room, he stopped suddenly when the words coming from the talking head on the web screen struck him.  "…Gotham PD announced early this morning that the identity of the charred remains discovered last Tuesday is in fact Paxton Powers, son of the late Derek Powers and former CEO of Wayne-Powers Industries.  Powers Junior has been out of the public eye since mysteriously turning over all shares of Wayne-Powers to fellow stockholder Bruce Wayne almost four months ago, giving Wayne controlling interest in the company for the first time in twenty years.  GPD is not revealing whether or not this will be treated as a homicide.  Now for the weather…"

Mouth hanging open, Terry let the towel drop to a heap on the floor as predictions for the hottest day this summer went unheard.  Paxton Powers dead?  It was too surreal.

"Terry?" Mary McGinnis called, poking her head into the living room.  "Anything wrong?"

"Ah, no Mom.  I just gotta get going a little earlier.  I'm afraid I'll have to skip breakfast."

"Why?  Your classes don't start for an hour and a half."

"Yeah, I know, but I just remembered I promised Mr. Wayne I'd pick up some suits from the cleaners and deliver them first thing.  He'll be disappointed if I don't."

Mary looked quizzically at him.  "Dry cleaning?  What does he need suits for, he never leaves the house?"

Terry shrugged.  "He's old Mom, I've got to humor him."  He turned quickly and made his way to his bedroom before his mom could question him anymore.  He sighed as he threw on the rest of his clothes.  Something like this was bound to happen.  Bruce should have known better.  _He_ should have known better.  Kendra belonged in jail.

Grabbing the backpack, he skipped out of the apartment quickly yelling goodbye to his mother and Matt, but closing the door before they could respond.  In the elevator he pulled out the cell phone and pressed speed dial 1.

"Wayne."

"It's me.  Have you seen the news?"

There was a brief pause, then, "Yes."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Terry demanded.

"What do you suggest I do, Terry?" Bruce responded in a deceptively soft voice.  Terry knew he should be on alert, but he was too keyed up to pay attention to the warning signs.

"Well putting Kendra behind bars would be a good first step."  He was seething.  If Bruce hadn't protected her after her stint as a killer vigilante, Powers would still be alive.  How far was he going to let her go?

"You're assuming she's guilty already."

"Of course I am!"

"Then there's nothing else to talk about."

"There's a whole hell of a lot to talk about Bruce.  This is not going away.  I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Don't bother, I was just on my way out to meet with Barbara Gordon."

"Are you going to tell her everything?"

"I'm not going to tell her anything, she's going to give me information.  Get to class, I'll see you this evening."  The phone went dead in Terry's hand.  He barely registered the elevator doors opening.

Automatically, he walked out of the building and into the connecting garage, thoughts running around his brain.  The motorcycle waited for him.  He stared at it contemplatively.  He was charged up emotionally, unsure if he should act or not.  A look at his watch told him it was still too early to head to the university, where he was taking summer journalism courses, inspired, by all things, his meeting Superman last year.  In an effort to decide what to do for a living, it had occurred to him a reporter was expected to hang around newsworthy events.  It would be useful for Batman to have legitimate access to crime scenes.

He decided there had to be something Bruce was hiding.  No way he could continue to defend Kendra, considering everything she was capable of.  Terry had to find out what it was that kept the old man so blind to the truth.  Jumping on the 'Cycle, he roared out of the garage and headed up towards the manor.

"Commissioner, there's a gentleman to see you," the voice coming from the intercom spoke.

"Does he have an appointment?" Barbara Gordon asked with a frown, knowing good and well she had no appointments this morning.

"Ah, no ma'am, but he said you'll want to see him.  It's about the Powers case."

"I've specifically asked not to be disturbed."  She was personally overseeing the Powers death and had been at her desk since long before dawn.  She was in no mood for reporters or well-meaning citizens with information that may or may not be salient.  "Have him speak to Detective Leonine."

There were a few moments of silence, and then the voice returned.  "I'm sorry to bother you Commissioner, but he's insisting.  He says his name is Bruce Wayne."

Barbara chuckled softly to herself before replying, "Let him wait ten minutes then send him in."

Returning to her file, she was lost in thought when the door finally opened ten minutes later.  Her secretary escorted Bruce in, and with a slight nod Barbara dismissed her.  Gesturing towards the chair facing her desk, she remarked, "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised too see you Bruce.  How's the head?" she asked, noting the smaller bandage he sported covering the injury he'd sustained in a car accident a few weeks before.

"You should have called me, Barbara," he growled, cutting right past pleasantries.

Her eyes narrowed.  "I work for the city of Gotham, not for you."  They glared at each other for several tense moments, and then Barbara sighed and glanced out the window.  "I only just found out myself late last night."

"What happened?"

"No one even knew he was back in town.  The airport reports he passed through customs late Sunday night.  The, ah, remains were found by a maid, who had been coming weekly since he left.  That was Tuesday afternoon.  A small amount of organic material was found and enabled forensics to make a positive DNA match.  The rest was completely incinerated."

"He was murdered?"

"Well if he wasn't it was spontaneous combustion, which the experts agree is damn near impossible.  If someone did kill him, it's an amazing weapon they used."  She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the edge of the desk.  "He was so completely burned dental records were useless, but other than a slight scorching of the carpet where the body was found, there was no other evidence of fire.  None, not even smoke damage."  She sat back in the chair and waited.

"What are you keeping from me?"

Barbara pursed her lips.  After all this time he could still read her like a book.  She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a clear plastic evidence bag.  "This was found in the same room, under the sofa."  Opening it, she dumped the contents into her hand and held it across the desk for him to take.  He frowned as he accepted the jewelry from her.  "Frankly, I don't recall you ever looking that young," she spoke quietly.

He opened the locket and gave the picture inside a cursory glance.  "It was before your time."

"The woman doesn't look familiar.  Who was she?"

"It doesn't matter anymore.  She's been dead for a long time."  After a deep breath he said, "She was Kendra's grandmother."

Barbara nodded.  "I figured as much."  She returned to business mode and asked, "Do you remember the last time you saw Kendra wearing it?"

He frowned and shook his head.  "She often wears it under her clothing.  I wouldn't know."

She found herself almost feeling sorry for him.  "Well, it's not conclusive, Bruce.  She did have a prior relationship with him; there could be a perfectly logical explanation.  However…" her voice trailed off.

His eyes were sharp and they looked at her.  "What?"

"According to telephone records Paxton made one call shortly after returning home.  Would you like to guess where he called?"

"My house."

"That would be correct.  I don't suppose you spoke with him?"  He shook his head.  She laced her fingers together.  "I just received a report from Interpol.  There was a scene in a restaurant in London.  Witnesses report lots of shouting and it did escalate into violence."

"He hit her?" Bruce asked in a low voice.

Shaking her head Barbara replied, "No, she slapped him and threw a wine glass.  I'm going to have to bring her in for questioning, you know."

"When?"

"Immediately.  She's our best and only lead so far."

"Are you charging her?"

"Bruce, I've only spoken with you so far out of respect for our past and the relationship you had with my father, but I can't go any further.  I suggest you start shopping for lawyers."

"Let me bring her in."  Barbara hesitated, unsure of what he was asking her.  "Let me convince her to come in voluntarily."

"Bruce…" she began.

The corners of his lips turned up in what some may consider a smile.  Barbara Gordon knew better.  "Think of the bad publicity my company would be served by seeing the president led out by police.  Stock prices would plummet."

So he was pulling the businessman gambit.  "One hour Bruce.  If she's not in this building in one hour, I'm sending out an entire squad, your bad publicity be damned.  Understood?"

Wayne stood up.  "Thank you, Barbara."

"You'll have to leave that here," she said nodding towards his hand.  "I'll see that it's returned to you once the investigation is over."  He tossed the locket onto the desk in front of her.  "One hour," she reminded once more as he walked out of the office.

Staring at the closed door she chewed the inside of her lip.  This was going to be a long, long day.

Terry slipped the backpack off his shoulder and sat down in front of the large computer.  Ace, possibly curious as to what the young man was up to, sat next to him.  Terry glanced down at the dog.  "You're going to have to keep this a secret, Mutt, or no Scooby snacks for you."  Ace licked his nose in response.  "Good boy," Terry muttered and turned his concentration to the task at hand.

He wasn't unfamiliar with Bruce's file system, having previously researched old cases hoping to increase his knowledge and become a better Batman.  Within seconds he was into the archives Bruce had set up, scrolling quickly past the old, closed files, with names like Penguin, Scarecrow, Clayface, and Catwoman.  His eyes caught on the file labeled simply 'Joker', and he shuttered involuntarily at the memory of having to face down the man that had ultimately broken the old bat family by his sheer evil.  But he also gave himself a mental pat on the back – he'd defeated the hideous clown at his own game.

He finally came to the name he'd been looking for: FireBrand.  Terry snorted as he opened the file, which caused Ace to look at him and shift on his paws.  "Sorry pup, but Bruce would maintain a file on a criminal while he lets her live in his house.  Anal to the end."

Like all the others, Kendra's file started out with description, known vital statistics and a picture when available.  There was a blurred shot of her on the rooftop where Terry had engaged her, taken from the video link in his cowl.  Notably absent from her file was a real name.  Was it possible the old man couldn't find it in his heart to merge the two together, as if keeping them separate kept his guilt at bay?

The following section was a summary of modus operandi and a list of crimes.  Next was current status.  Bruce had actually entered, "At large, no longer a threat."  "The old man's finally flipped his lid, Ace, that's the only explanation.  She's the biggest threat of all of them."

Lastly, each file generally contained a cross reference to other criminals they were known to associate with as a way of establishing alliances that required monitoring.  Terry was more than a little surprised to find a reference at the bottom of Kendra's directing him to someone called the Phantasm. 

In opening the new file, he discovered this person had committed a series of similar crimes almost fifty years ago.  Her real name was Andrea Beaumont and she had apparently murdered several mobsters who had been responsible for her father's death.  Other than the similarities of the MO, Terry couldn't understand what this woman had to do with Kendra until he saw a picture of her and his breath caught in his throat.  The smile, the eyes.  They were undoubtedly related.  It hit Terry like a ton of bricks.  This was her grandmother.

Terry backed out of the system and quickly departed the cave.  

The door to her office opened, but Kendra didn't bother to turn around and greet the visitor.  Upon arriving this morning she had specifically told her secretary no one was to be admitted under any circumstance.  After hearing the news on the car radio during the morning commute she didn't think she could face another human being for a while.

Lucky for her it wasn't a human that stood silently waiting for her acknowledgement.

"Took you long enough," she muttered, staring out the clear plexiglass that comprised the entire back wall of the office suite.  "Did you need to run a few errands before coming over to accuse me of murder?"

Even in the reflected image she could see the narrowing of his eyes and his lips purse together in an even tighter line.  Shoulders sagging she finally turned.  "That was low.  I'm sorry."  If he noticed the redness of her eyes he didn't make a show of it.

"I've been with Barbara Gordon all morning," was his calm reply, as if commenting on the weather.

With a groan she sank into the chair behind her desk.  It was a nice chair, large and comfortable, but it could have been made of granite for all Kendra noticed.  "I suppose you spilled everything about me?"

"It didn't come up in conversation," he replied dryly.  She looked at him with astonishment and just a hint of skepticism.  In answer he said, "It doesn't have any relevance.  For the time being."

"You don't think I did it?"

"There's not enough evidence yet."

She frowned at him, but said nothing, not sure whether or not to be relieved that her guilt wasn't automatically assumed.  "What about Terry?" she asked instead.

It was Bruce's turn to frown.  "What about him?"

"He knows.  And he hates me."

"He doesn't hate you."

"Yes he does.  He thinks I'm insane."  They locked eyes for a moment.  "_Really_ insane.  He'd like nothing better than to see me locked up and out of the way.  He could easily go to the cops."

"I don't think he'd go that far, regardless of his feelings towards you."

Kendra shook her head in bewilderment until something finally occurred to her.  Bruce was an accessory after the fact.  She'd confessed her crimes to him and he'd kept quite.  When and if he told (and she had no illusions that he would hesitate for a second if he saw a true need) he would be turning himself in for prosecution as well.  Her guilt skyrocketed.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he interrupted.  "We don't have time for this.  Barbara wants you for questioning.  She allowed me to convince you to come in willingly, but if we don't return soon she'll have you arrested."

"Oh god," she muttered, but rose from her chair and retrieved a coat from the adjoining closet.  "It's always the disgruntled soon-to-be ex-wife who takes the rap, isn't it?"

He didn't bother to respond, and together they made their way out.  Once in the car and en route he casually asked, "Where's your necklace Kendra?"

She stiffened and felt her skin turn to ice.  He wouldn't normally concern himself with her accoutrements, even one as valuable as her grandmother's locket.  He knew something.

"Don't know," she replied automatically, feeling like a sulky child.

"You haven't lied to me before, why start now?"  She just shook her head.

The remainder of the trip passed in tense silence, and as they pulled up to the front of One Police Plaza Barbara Gordon appeared on the steps, surrounded by a cadre of uniformed officers.

The commissioner acknowledged Bruce with a barely perceptible nod and then turned to Kendra.  "Thank you for coming in voluntarily."

"Voluntarily.  Right."  She followed Gordon up the steps and into the lobby.  A man seated in a cluster of chairs popped up at the sight of them and came forward.

"Mrs. Powers?  I'm Thomas Haraday.  I'll be your attorney."

Kendra cast a questioning glance over her shoulder to Bruce, who simply nodded.  Looking back at the slender and bespectacled man who was at least four inches shorter than she and appeared not to have the ability to fight his way out of a paper bag, she said with a bright smile, "Lucky me."  To Gordon she said, "Let's get this circus sideshow going, shall we?"

Gordon, Kendra, Haraday, and three cops rode to the elevator to the twentieth floor and then proceeded to an interrogation room.

After the first few preliminary questions – name, age, address – the commissioner began the interview in earnest, and Haraday began a litany of "I'm advising my client not to answer" or "That is irrelevant to these proceedings" before Kendra could even open her mouth to answer.

Barbara was growing increasingly frustrated at having her questions rebuked and Kendra had the strange and most unpleasant sensation that she had suddenly gone mute.  Finally enough was enough and she stood abruptly from her chair.  "Shut up.  I do not need a mouthpiece; I am perfectly capable of speaking.  You can leave now."

Thomas Haraday looked up at her like a child who just had his favorite toy snatched from his grasp.  "Mrs. Powers, you really must reconsider.  Anything said to the police at this point…"

"Can and will be used against me.  Yadda, yadda, yadda.  And it's Ms. Baker, thank you."  She grabbed his arm and hauled him from his seat, easily sending the frail man sailing towards the doorway.  "I'm sure you will be well compensated for your time.  As the old saying goes, 'It's been real and it's been fun, but it ain't been real fun.'  B'bye."  With one final look of disdain he allowed one of the officers to escort him back down to the lobby.

Kendra turned back to Barbara who had watched the exchange with arms folded across her chest.  "You want to know what happened, have as seat.  This might take a while."

It was Sunday evening.  Having just taken a bubble bath Kendra wore a simple bathrobe and her hair up in a towel.  She had finished a facial routine and was now starting to apply polish to her finger- and toenails.  She was spending a quiet evening alone in her room, as usual.  Tomorrow the week would start as they always did – with a board meeting.  She hated those meetings.  While the employees of Wayne-Powers treated her with an aloof respect, the executive members made no bones about their disregard for her.  She wasn't sure if they hated her more for being Bruce's granddaughter or Paxton's wife.  Yet she still persisted, as much to stay in the old man's good graces as to show she was worthy of the trust placed in her hands.

As she was carefully dabbing polish onto the toes of her left foot, the phone rang.  Since Bruce was down in the dungeon, she grabbed her extension.  "Hello," she breathed into the receiver.

"It's good to hear your voice, baby," she soft reply came.

The shock of hearing Paxton's voice caused her hand to slip, and a stripe of fuchsia appeared on the top of her foot.  "Why are you calling me?" she managed to ask, while wiping the smudge away before it dried.

"Now, now.  That's no way to talk to your husband is it?"

"Soon to be ex-husband.  I presume you've gotten the court order?"

"Yes, and that was terribly unkind of you.  We should at least talk about this shouldn't we?"

"We did Paxton.  I said, 'Stop sleeping around, or else I'm leaving you.'  It was pretty straightforward I believe."

"Darling, you know those girls meant nothing to me."  She gave a snort, but said nothing.  "Kendra, dear," he began in a more serious voice.  "This isn't over yet.  I really must speak with you, but in person.  Tonight."

With a laugh she replied, "Tonight?  I don't think so, considering you're about 1,000 miles away."

"More like ten miles." 

"You're in town," she said flatly.

"Absolutely.  You didn't think I'd stay away forever do you?"

"Doesn't matter," she spoke with a resolve she didn't really feel.  "We're over.  No discussion is going to change that.  Goodbye." 

She started to hang up the phone when he said, "What would Bruce think about your nocturnal activities last year?"

She closed her eyes, hearing her own words in her mind, _And I've killed men for less_.  She hadn't confided the whole story to him, but he wasn't stupid and he'd drawn his own conclusions.  He had more than enough information to be dangerous.  She wanted to say to him, _He figured it out in about ten seconds flat, you schmuck._  Instead she just sighed, "He'd live, I suppose."

"But will he let you continue to run his company?  Or what about the police, Kendra, what would they do?"

"You don't have any evidence," she said thickly, feeling slightly ill at the implied threat.

"Don't need any.  All I have to do is point them in the right direction.  They've either already got the evidence, or they can find it I'm sure."  He let that sink in for a few seconds.  "Now, shall I see you in, say, 30 minutes love?  Don't like to be kept waiting you know."  

The line was disconnected and she threw the phone across the room, screaming "Bastard!"

She quickly threw on some clothes and brushed out her still wet hair before racing down the stairs and out the door.  Traffic was light and she arrived at Paxton's mansion in less than the half hour deadline.  Steeling herself, she rung the door chimes and waited impatiently for him to answer.  When he did she was caught off guard as he stood before her shirtless and damp.  "Sorry love," he said as he showed her into the den.  "I called you first thing upon arriving home.  Jumped into the shower to make myself more presentable for you."

"Whatever," she replied distractedly, waving away his less-than-sincere apology.  He knew her weaknesses and was no doubt preying on them.  "What do you want Paxton?  I'm not staying married to you, no matter what."

"So you would just leave me penniless then?"

"Get over yourself," she cried.  "I don't think ten million creds qualifies you for poverty."

"It's gone."

"You're joking.  I thought you were a good businessman.  What on earth happened to it?"

"I needed it to pay off some old debts."

"And you have nothing else?"

He shook his head.  "I've been living off loans, using my shares in Wayne-Powers as collateral.  I've got nothing left.  But you," he said tenderly, drawing closer and trying to grasp her hand.

She batted it away and called out, "Enough!  I'm tired of your little games Paxton!"

"Games?  But you set the rules for this game didn't you."  His voice rumbled and his eyes narrowed.  "Why stop now?  

She hugged herself.  "You tried to have Bruce killed," she said in a low voice.

He seemed startled at first, and then regained his composure.  "Ah, I'm not surprised he told you.  Probably made it seem like it was all my fault, didn't he?"

She didn't mention that it was Terry who told her, but said, "Well is it true or not?"

"That's not the whole story.  I suppose he didn't mention that the Royal Flush Gang had me held for ransom.  When they contacted him he refused.  'Company policy' my ass.  He was content to get me out of the way.  I had to find a way to free myself, and if that meant making a deal with the devil, then so be it.

"Whatever he says, don't for a minute believe he has anything but his own interests at heart."  He stepped closer to her and grasped her shoulders.  Gently he said, "But that's in the past.  This is the present."  He bent down and placed his lips on her forehead.  "I know you deserve better."  He kissed her cheek.  "But please understand I _am_ crazy about you."  His mouth found hers.

Several hours later she was fumbling in the darkness for her clothes, Paxton's form snoring softly from the bed.

"I promise you, Commissioner, he was very much alive when I left him."

Barbara nodded thoughtfully.  "What was the threat?"

"I-I'm sorry?" Kendra stuttered.

"You said Paxton used a veiled threat to get you to come over.  What was the threat?"

"It's not really relevant."

A slow, feral smile spread over Barbara Gordon's face.  "It could very well be a motive for murder."

"I'm afraid I'll have to plead the fifth then."

"I see."  Barbara rose and walked to the end of the small room, her back to Kendra.  "Fortunately for you, forensics still hasn't come up with an MO.  All we have is circumstantial evidence at this point.  You're free to go.  For now."

"Does that mean you're not charging me?"

Barbara turned around.  "Don't make any travel arrangements outside Gotham City limits.  I'll be in touch."

Kendra rose and nodded to the older woman.  "Please don't say anything about this to Bruce."

"He won't hear it from me," she replied.  The policeman guarding the door opened it and allowed her to leave.  She rode the elevator alone and disembarked in the lobby, expecting to see Bruce waiting for her, but he was nowhere to be found.  Confused and frustrated she stood alone in the large space, hugging herself to keep from shaking.  After several moments she heard a soft voice call her name from behind.  She turned and saw Bruce standing there.

"Where did you come from?" she whispered.

"Upstairs," he replied simply, and she knew.  He'd heard everything.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, the bitter tears began running down her face.  "You must think I'm terrible."

"No."  

"I was weak, and I…I…" she hiccupped as the sobs came stronger.  His hand came up and gripped her shoulder, pulling her forward until she pressed her face against his chest.  He lightly brushed her hair.

"You loved him."  She nodded her head against his chest.  "That's not a crime.  Let's go home."

Terry entered the cave and found Bruce in his usual place.  "Hey," he called out as he disappeared into the changing area.

"Did you find what you were looking for this morning?" the old man greeted him gruffly.

"Ah," Terry started, not sure whether to pretend ignorance.  "So how's Kendra?" he asked lightly.

"She's upstairs sleeping.  The police questioned her today."

"They didn't arrest her?"

"No, there's not enough evidence.  A fact you seem to be overlooking."

Terry scoffed as he pulled on his suit.  "Evidence!  She's got a history of eliminating people she doesn't like and apparently it runs in the family."  He came out and looked pointedly at Bruce.  Bruce looked back at him with a sour expression.  "Not you.  Her grandmother?   Andrea Beaumont?  I read all about her."  

"She has nothing to do with this situation, Terry," Bruce replied in a quiet voice.

"Sure she does.  It just supports my theory.  Insanity runs in families.  Kendra belongs in jail, or at least in Arkham.  And if you're not going to do anything about it, then maybe I should."

"Very well Terrance," Bruce said with a smile.  "You _are_ going to do something.  You are going to Paxton's home and look for evidence to prove your assumptions."  Terry's mouth dropped open; he felt like he'd just been played.  "Now!"  Bruce said before he could make any arguments.

"Fine, but don't blame me if I find out your little darling is still a psychopathic killer," Terry spat as he jumped into the Batmobile and rocketed out of the cave.  He fumed as he zoomed above the city, finally reaching the Gotham Heights area, where the richest residents built multi-million dollar homes and pretended theirs was the only one on the block.  Pulling the release lever he dropped out of the cockpit and shot the batwings out, gliding down to the well-groomed lawn.  Keeping to the shadows he moved to the side of the mansion where a massive pool stood.  Terry knew that Paxton had held many wild parties around this very pool.  A sliding glass door provided the entrance into the house, but was blocked by a holographic image with the streaming words, 'Crime scene…Do not cross by order of the Gotham Police Department…Crime scene…'  Unlike the old tape used in the last century, one couldn't just walk through it.  To break the barrier would sound alarms and bring the whole force down on him.

Terry looked up and saw a large window on the second floor, presumably the master bedroom suite.  With a grin Terry engaged his rocket thrusters and flew up to the sill.  The window opened easily and he entered.  A large bed sat to his left and a still-packed suitcase lay on a chair next to the walk in closet.  He barely glanced at it and went out the door finding the stairs down to the main floor, looking for the living room where Paxton's ashes had been found.

"Wayne are you there?" he called into his cowl's communicator.

"Are you inside yet?"

"Yep.  Heading into the room now.  Looks normal.  There's an outline on the rug; must be where they found him.  Other than that the room seems untouched."

"Barbara said there weren't any scorch marks, except on the carpet."

"She's right.  How could something so hot not even so much as melt the lampshades?"

"I don't know.  Start at the spot where the body was found."

Terry walked over and knelt down to get a closer look.  "Switch on the vid link and take a look."

Together they observed the slightly oblong shadow on the pale peach carpet.  "Get a sample of the threads," Wayne told him.

Terry shrugged, but did as he was asked.  "Don't you think the cops have done this?  What do you think is in here that they missed?"

He was carefully plucking some of the singed carpet when Wayne shouted into his ear, "Terry!  Stop right there!  I'm getting some readings from the suit's sensors."

"What is it?" Terry asked holding laying his hand completely on the floor.

"Radiation," Bruce replied simply.  "Low enough levels that someone who didn't know what they were looking for would miss it."

"Radiation?  Was that what you were looking for all along?"

There was a brief pause, and then simply, "Yes."

"I don't get it."

"Radiation in large concentrated quantities can disintegrate an object within a matter of seconds without giving off any extraneous heat."

"But how would Powers have been exposed to such a radiation blast…Slag!" he swore suddenly.  "Blight!  You think he could have done this to his own son?"

"He had a grudge.  And I don't think family loyalty means too much to that clan."

"Where has he been all this time?  How did he survive?"

"Who knows?  There's an abandoned nuclear power plant not too far up the river that still gives off low-level rads.  He may very well have held up there waiting for his chance…what the..?"

"Wayne?  What is it?"  Terry called out.  Then he heard a feminine scream and a loud crash.  "Bruce!  What's going on?  Bruce?  Bruce!!"

There was an eternity of silence before he finally got a reply.  "Well, well, if this isn't my lucky day," a deceptively silky voice flowed into his ear.  "I come to take out one enemy only to find another…Batman.  Or is it Terry McGinnis?"

"Blight," Terry growled.  

"At your service.  It all makes sense now.  Your father was Warren McGinnis, another busybody.  What a shame.  But we'll have plenty of time to talk about old acquaintances once you get your meddlesome self over here.  Otherwise the world is going to be shy two Waynes."

"How do I know you won't kill them anyway?"

"You don't.  But I know how you think Terry.  You could never live with yourself if you didn't try.  Good guys never do, eh Wayne?"  There was a muffled reply that Terry couldn't make out.  "Ha ha, old man.  We'll see about that.  Don't be long Batman.  I wouldn't want the party to start without the guest of honor."  Terry groaned as a screech of feedback pierced into his ear, presumably because Blight had destroyed the communicator on his end.

Just great, Terry thought.  Blight in the Batcave holding Bruce and Kendra hostage.  How was he supposed to stop him?  The only time he'd seen Blight beaten was when Paxton had tricked him with that pinch cell net.  But it went down with the sub.  If only…He stopped and snapped his fingers.  That was it.  He didn't have much time to get back to the cave, but first he had a quick stop to make.

Bruce and Kendra sat side by side on stools next to the table where his microscope and other scientific equipment were laid out.  Kendra was tethered to the table by one of his own batcuffs.  Blight had made him put it on her arm himself, a glowing fireball waiting in his hand to be thrown if Bruce made a suspicious move.  Bruce himself was not bound in anyway.  Blight assumed that he wouldn't try anything as long as she was helpless.  He was right.

"My, my, my."  The glowing fiend walked around and observed all of the artifacts in the cave.  He stopped before the cases where the old suits were stored.  He placed one finger on the glass in front of the original batsuit.  There was a hiss and melted glass trickled slowly down where his finger lay.  "You were the first Batman weren't you?" he asked in a hushed awe.  Bruce made no comment.  "I'm not entirely surprised Wayne.  The way you continued to poke your nose into my company.  It's a control thing isn't it?  Doesn't matter anyway," he said.  "All that's important is that I get to finish all my business in one stop.  First that ingrate of a son," he walked over to the pair, "next, your bitch of a granddaughter for turning him into a sniveling, pathetic waste of my time.  And finally, Bruce, you and that punk kid.  Then my revenge will be complete."

Kendra, who had been mute from the shock since Blight crashed through the doors upstairs, finally looked up and said, "Y-you killed Paxton?"

Blight threw back his head and laughed.  "Oh my yes!  I could almost forgive him for trying to kill me.  That was imaginative and self-serving, just the way I taught him, but giving, _giving_, my company to you!  That was simply unacceptable.  And what a disappointment he was even at the very end.  Do you know what the last thing he said to me was before I gave him my last paternal embrace?  'Don't hurt my wife.'  I'd like to know what you did to him to turn him into such a feeble-minded stooge."  He bent down inches from her face, his eyes glowing in rage.

"You are a monster," she whispered.

This made him laugh even harder than before.  "What's the matter?  Don't want to give your father-in-law a kiss?  Ha ha ha!"  Tears fell down her face and she tried to turn away from him.

"Leave her alone Powers!" Bruce spat.

"You're in no position to give orders, old man," Blight growled.  "I don't have to keep you alive until Batman gets here, you know."  His hand came up slowly ready to grab Bruce by the throat.

"Blight!"  The word echoed throughout the immense cavern.

Powers stood straight and looked around.  "Batman!  Show yourself!"

"Let them go!"  It could have come from any direction.

"I don't think so."

As the two enemies were having their exchange Bruce leaned over and whispered to get Kendra's attention.  She looked at him, tears still drying on her face.  He spoke softly to her, asking her a question.

She nodded, but said, "What good will that do?"

"Maybe nothing.  It's going to be up to Terry, but maybe we can buy him some time.  Are you up to it?"

She frowned and then rattled the cuff against the table.  "Not while I'm tied up."  He smiled and then whispered into her ear.  She reached over with her free hand and found the switch on the cuffs, which popped open.  With a small smile she dropped them onto the tabletop.  Making sure Blight's back was to her she softly crept across the floor and slipped behind a wall.  He wasn't happy asking her to do this, but the alternative was to sit back and do nothing.  Gripping his cane in both hands he waited for his opportunity.  Ace sat by his side, watching his master, also waiting.

Terry held his ground behind a stalagmite, watching Blight search the darkness for him.  He saw Kendra stand and sneak into the back room.  It was storage, he knew, but didn't think there was anything in there to be of help.  But he couldn't concern himself with that at the moment.  He had to get Blight off guard.

"Let them go and it'll just be us, man to man.  C'mon you don't need innocent hostages to take me on do you?" he taunted.

"Innocent!  They're far from innocent, and it will just be you and me when I finish them off.  If you'd like to watch, than just stay right where you are."  Smugly he turned back pausing when he saw only Bruce,  "What the..?" he cried out.  That was when Bruce struck.  He leapt up and swung his cane with all of his might.  Blight easily deflected the blow, sending him flying with a backhand.  He landed on his side and slid back several feet, groaning involuntarily.  "Now we end this Wayne!"  The fireball glowed in his hand and he swung back ready to fire it.  A fierce growl rose up and Ace jumped, planting his front feet against Blight's chest, rocking him back.  The fireball flew wildly up to the ceiling, sending rock debris everywhere.  "Stupid mutt," Blight said flinging the animal off him like a used garment.  Another fireball was hurled, but the dog started running and only caught it on his upper flank.  With a heart-wrenching cry of pain, the dog fell down in front of his master, singed fur smoking along his back.  "Argh!" Blight groaned in frustration.

As Terry watched he created yet a third to throw at both them.  "No!" he cried and shot from his hiding place, only to be beaten to it by Kendra, dressed in her FireBrand costume.  She did several forward flips, landing her with her feet between Blight's shoulder blades.  He went down face first, but rolled over quickly.  As she tried to step away from him he reached up and grabbed her wrist, holding fast as he stood.

"What's this?" he cried.  "Another costume?  Don't you people ever quit!"  With a hand on each shoulder, he said with a wicked smile, "This is perfect.  You can die the same way as your husband did!"  He wrapped his arms around her in a gruesome parody of love.  She cried out and smoke billowed up, but she remained intact.  In a moment of confusion he loosened his grip on her.  "I don't understand…"

"It's fireproof you moron!" she spat out, head butting the green monstrosity.  "That's for Paxton!"  He stumbled back a couple of steps, but regained his footing, shooting a ball directly at her chest.  Crying out, she flew off her feet and landed in the middle of the glass display cases, shards scattering everywhere.

Using the distraction, Terry grabbed the netting and ignited his rocket boots to propel him forward, throwing the net over Powers.  He twisted around and shot a batarang at the pinch cell sitting where he'd placed it while camouflaged earlier.  It buzzed to life immediately.

"No!"  Blight cried out in agony, as the machine started draining away his energy.  "That thing went down in the river!  How could you…?"  He fell into a heap on the floor.

Landing in front of him, Terry replied, "Luckily for us Wayne-Power's scientists always make a prototype to keep in the lab before sending something out into the field.  I believe that was a policy developed by the original owner."   Turning, he rushed over to where Bruce laid, one hand comforting the still form of Ace.  "How're you two doing?"

"A little worse for the wear," he replied sardonically.  "I've got to get Ace to a doctor.  That's a pretty bad burn."

"We'll do.  How about you?  Can you get up?"

He tried but fell back down, his face masked in pain.  "I think I broke my hip."  His eyes moved over Terry's shoulder.  "Kendra don't!" he called out.

Terry spun around.  She was standing next to the pinch cell, her mask hand been removed, and she was reaching for the dial.  "What are you doing?" he cried.

"Can this thing kill him?" she asked in a hysterical voice.  Under the net Blight groaned and more power was sucked out of him.

"Yes it can!  Don't do it!"

She turned her face to him, eyes wild, hair frayed out in all directions.  "Why not?  He killed Paxton.  He was going to kill all of us!  Why not?"  The words rose and fell with an overload of emotions.

"Because that's not what we do," Bruce replied from behind him in a reasonable tone.  "That's not what _good_ people do.  I know you are a good person Kendra, and I know you know the difference."

She looked at him, tears falling freely from her eyes.  "But it hurts," she spoke in the small voice of a child.

"Yes, and it won't stop if you do that."

"Did it ever stop for you?"

"No," he agreed quietly.  "Because I didn't want it to.  I fed on it, I used it and it used me.  Look what I've become.  Please don't let that happen to you.  For me.  For Andrea."  Her eyes closed and she sank down onto the floor, her head in her hands, letting the sobs overcome her.  To Terry he said, "Call Barbara.  She's going to need to arrange a lead lined prison cell.  And we're going to need an ambulance."

He was in the hospital again.  He was grumpy and let anyone within hearing distance know it.  This time the doctor refused to let him out a minute before he was ready.  Somehow he'd gained a reputation.  He couldn't walk and was therefore confined to bed, flipping through the webchannels and finding nothing of interest.  Even the news didn't interest him.  Blight, also known as Derek Powers, who was captured and arrested for the death of Paxton Powers and the attempted murder of Bruce Wayne and his granddaughter, escaped custody in the early morning hours as the police attempted to transfer him to a cell.  Somebody accidentally unplugged the net before he was secured.  With a sound of disgust he turned off the set with his remote.  He hated hospitals.

The door opened silently and Terry peeked his head in.  "Are you looking for some company?"  Bruce's eyes widened and he nodded, grateful to see a friendly face.  "So how're you doing?"

"I hate it here."

"I know," Terry replied with a laugh.

"You should be out on patrol," Bruce said pointedly.  "Blight's at large."

"I will be.  I promise no slacking while you're out of commission.  Do you think he'd really come back for you?"

"I don't know.  He'll be pretty weak and may need some time to recuperate.  Maybe he'll try again in the future.  We have to be ready for anything."

 Terry nodded.  "So," he began.  "I guess I owe you an apology."

"Not me," Bruce replied.

Terry sighed.  "Okay, I guess I owe her an apology.  Is she going to be alright?"

"She left this morning for California."  Terry's eyes widened.  "She went to stay with her mother for a while.  They have a lot to talk about."

"Will she be back?"

"Someday."  He turned away to glance out the window.  "And someday I may get to see my daughter and grandson again."

End Part IV


End file.
